


Retribution

by AmRye



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Abuse, Boarding School, Bullying, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neglect, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Tension, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 93,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20928203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmRye/pseuds/AmRye
Summary: Years after the island, Ralph is sent to the choristers' prestigious boarding school in the hope that it will secure a normal and successful future following the trauma of his past. Secrets unfold as a pattern emerges between the former hunters and prey. If an object of desire cannot be caught and conquered, then it is oftentimes destroyed.





	1. Scars that Fester

**Author's Note:**

> This work is being placed here from my original postings as CircadianLily from a handful of years back on another forum, and I've decided to post this project here to reach a wider audience. There are some facts throughout Golding's book, such as the specific time setting and locations, that are vague, so I've attempted to fill in necessary blanks. Some of these details may include last names and physical traits that were never otherwise mentioned and other background information pertaining to the main characters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you can! I'm always looking to improve and enjoy reading your impressions.

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_"In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. What's the point in just being hurt on the inside? It should bloody well show."  
-Janet Fitch (_White Oleander)__

* * *

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The wooden, ornate grandfather clock struck the hour.

Its voice reverberated low and proud, though failed to escape its carpeted prison that featured lustrous drapery over grand windows.

A boy with fair hair stood in the middle of it all, his tense eyes shifted throughout the stifling room, memorizing each detail as if it would soon dissolve into wild, twisted trees, dripping with condensation. He feared that the smell of linen and musk would soon be overpowered by the scent of ever pouring sweat and blood. His nervous eyes darted to the door, feeling that any moment painted savages would come pounding through, eager to drive their pointed sticks through his flesh, to slit his throat and to offer his blood to their beast. Of all their prey, he was the only one that still drew breath.

And yet he only lived because of fortunate circumstance. Apparently God wasn't through with him yet. He wasn't finished playing life's wicked game. In his mind, because he got away, he would always _be_ the hunted, always avoiding those that ached to finish what they had started years ago. He reviled the room that promised such fickle protection, giving the inhabitant no reason to fear for anything that could penetrate its dense walls. His fingers knotted within his pockets as his eyes flitted to the active fireplace. It spit and hissed as it devoured the dry wood. Fire was still a sore reminder.

It hadn't been that long... or so it seemed, since he had arrived back home.

_Had he really been back for over two years?_

Every morning that he woke up in a soft bed was a moment of surreal appreciation with a creeping shade of skepticism.

_Was he really here? Or was this all the same hopeful dream?_

The dream that was a constant, passionate invader of his mind within the island.

Or were the marred faces, murderous reminiscences and sensations that he felt and saw within the night the true reality? The reality that he tried hard to separate from the life that he had before the island... and the one that he was to now continue.

_Did they expect him to just pick up where he left off? As if it was all that bloody simple._

Ralph's tightening throat felt as if a small stone had been forced down his esophagus. He took his sweaty palms from his pockets and wiped them over the top of his pants. His fair hair no longer hung over his eyes and his skin no longer basked in the earth's grim, yet he was reluctant to examine the reminder that summer had ended, his faded sun-tainted hands. Hands that once tried to tear, to rip, and to grab handfuls of tantalizing, vulnerable flesh. He shoved them once again deep within his pockets. His breath came heavy and his chest constricted.

His eyes lifted to the light patter of rain against the window glass. It was a gentle overcast, one that held promise for non-radical weather. A rather civilized forecast, he decided. His breathing slowed... as did his pulse.

All the while, he was unaware of the sudden, fresh set of eyes that were trained with care upon him. The opening of the door had been silent, as the thickness of the grandfather clock parlor absorbed any intrusive sounds. The purposeful small clearing of the throat caught the fair-haired boy's attention, bringing back his paranoid pulse. He was more than aware of the slight jump within his body. Immediate warmth spilled into his cheeks.

It was the first thing that his father had noticed when he came to receive him from the navy vessel that had rescued them. Ralph was still as tense and skittish as the island's panicked swine during a hunt. A far cry from how he used to be. It took months for his eyes to lose that faraway, haunted look, as if he were seeing and hearing phenomena that no one else could, jumping at every little thing that racked his nerves. His father came to hate these abnormalities in a son that he had once been so proud of. These were the sorts of _abnormalities_ that would land him in the madhouse one day if they worsened.

_Why would anyone else think otherwise?_ Ralph's mind ridiculed him.

He was relieved to see that it was only a girl that stood within the doorframe; her curious gaze was upon him. Her eyes still held the warmth of innocence. Ralph could tell the moment their eyes met and felt the immediate pain of loss for his, as well as a surge of loathing for the foul knowledge that now took its place—leisurely making itself at home within his heart.

He already knew that the Bradleys had a daughter of the same number of years as him. The Bradleys… the family that his father took him to, the family friends that were the closest to the boarding school he was to now attend.

His stomach churned at the thought of his father, knowing that he was going to be leaving soon. Just like he always did. It hadn't always been like this, of course. Not since his mother had left them when he was eight. Once she was gone, he had only known boarding schools.

Ralph ignored his tart stomach and tried to distract himself with the pale girl in front of him with the dark, open eyes. A loose braid lay over her shoulder. She moved to one side of the room, her hand trailing lightly across the back of a couch. She smiled at him, the corners of her mouth peaked for a moment, lit with a playful sort of mischief before vanishing. Though her smile had gone, the curiosity remained. The brief appearance of her curious smile caused Ralph to think of her as pretty... that is, before he caught himself thinking so. His cheeks burned.

He shifted his weight, which caused him to cringe slightly, forgetting that he had woken that morning with throbbing legs. His father said that it was only more growing pains. Some of his clothes no longer accommodated this growth. Again. It seemed like all he had been doing lately was buying new clothes.

Sucks to puberty.

Time had flown. Everyone told him that they had been stranded for several months. Amidst the muddle of time within the island, Ralph had surpassed his thirteenth birthday, unbeknownst to him. Time had no meaning on the island. Another two years had passed since coming back, recuperating and being moved around with his father according to where he was needed most for his duty.

The physical change in him was startling. Only a couple years had gone and now there were only mere traces of childish softness left within his face. He didn't mind. He didn't feel like a child anymore.

"Hello. I'm sorry if I startled you." Her voice, like the room, was quiet, so as not to disturb whatever conversation the adults were having down the hallway.

"I wasn't startled," Ralph quickly muttered, dark irritation painting his tone. Had it been a moment sooner, he would have interrupted. He aimed for casualty, conscious of his lowered voice. In the previous year, he had been making all sorts of odd noises and cracks within his speech. Now they had receded for the most part, much to his relief, though felt awkward in finding that it was replaced by an entirely new voice that Ralph hardly recognized.

The girl offered a polite nod. Her eyes were downcast.

"I'm Irene." She pronounced her name with three syllables, the old-fashioned way. Her hands clasped together in front of her plain, white dress. There was a pause before Irene's voice continued, "My room will be just a floor above yours just in case you need anything."

Ralph's fingers played with the edge of his pocket, sliding the fabric against his bitten nails. Never did manage to get rid of that nasty habit. His mind offered him blanks as to what he was supposed to say next. Adjusting back into the routine of civilization was not as effortless as Ralph had at first expected. Even now, it refused to become the second nature as it had once been.

'_Introduce yerself,'_ A voice prompted within Ralph's mind. He stiffened, gritting his teeth. The voice always sounded like Piggy with his way of speaking, as if he were dropping obnoxious reminders during a conch meeting.

"Thank you..." He licked his dry lips. "I'm Ralph."

Irene smiled again. "It's nice to meet you, Ralph."

There was a small commotion at the door. In filtered three adults: a man with a thick-waisted coat, a petite woman with a kind face, and the tall navy commander that Ralph knew so well.

The woman stepped forward, until she was an arm's length away from Ralph. Her arrangement of pinned hair felt familiar, though he couldn't say why.

"You may not remember me, Ralph; but your mother and I were close friends. We—grew up together." The woman presented a sad smile. The stillness following her words lasted for only a moment before she found her voice again. "You were so young... the last time I saw you. And now you're quite the young man. She would be so proud."

Ralph felt himself flush at being called such, though now looked at the woman with a new interest.

The woman bit her lip, her face strained as she brought her hand up to touch Ralph's cheek. He leaned into her fingers in the slightest when the memory of why she was familiar surfaced within his brain. The woman reminded him of his mum before she died. Even the smell of her lilac perfume awakened the timeworn memory of her face. For a moment, he could almost hear her voice; recall the way that she would sing to him, soft and lilting. And in a flash, it was gone. She retreated from him as she turned her attention towards Irene.

"And I see that you've met my Rene." The woman spoke with such a warm smile towards her daughter, Ralph felt an irrational surge of jealousy singe his insides for just a moment, seeing the motherly connection that Irene still enjoyed.

"I'm sure that you two will get along quite swimmingly," Mrs. Bradley added in a stubborn, yet spirited voice.

"It will be a pleasure to have you with us for a short while," The man with the heavy coat said in such a mild manner, it sounded as if he had just complimented the brilliant display of cloudy weather. It was apparently considered normal to always talk about the weather. And if it was disagreeable, then to pretend that it wasn't. Ralph tried not to think of this ridiculousness as he forced his voice into polite indifference.

"Thank you, sir."

A weighty stillness settled once again over the grandfather clock room, so thick it felt as though it could be sliced in half.

"A moment, Ralph?" The deep, gruff voice of his father broke the silence. He walked out the room with a formal stiffness befitting a commander. Ralph followed, more than aware of the three sets of eyes trained upon his back.

Ralph followed his solemn father down the main staircase and then down a long hallway with a creaking floor, feeling like a stupid lapdog. He always did so. He didn't complain. He never complained, especially after his mum died. Even when he forced Ralph to pack his things for yet another move—in and out of the countryside where Ralph liked it best. Where he got to feed the sugar to the ponies when he was little. The lovely, quiet countryside where no one bothered you. Where people minded their own business.

They reached Ralph's designated room for the sole night. Tomorrow he would be starting at the new boarding school. His father sighed deep and low before opening the door to the room bearing only one suitcase. A new order of grey and navy school uniforms lay sprawled over the crisp, white guest bed. Ralph regarded the mess with lifeless eyes, reminding himself that he had yet to pack it away for his leave tomorrow morning. He breathed in the civilized scent of long-unused sheets and dust.

Finally turning towards Ralph while standing in the middle of the room, he laid a heavy hand over his son's shoulder as he spoke. "We both know that I cannot stay for long. I've already taken so much time away from my duty..."

He spoke like he was addressing one of his subordinates. No words formulated past Ralph's lips, so he acknowledged him with a nod before slowly regarding his father's face. It was a strong face that was once capable of holding great kindness and would have been welcoming had lines of grief not been grooved so deep amidst his aging features. He had already lost a wife and came close to losing their only child, the only family he had left and the only physical reminder of _her_. His father attempted to smile, though it didn't quite reach his pale eyes.

"These are good people, Ralph. They can give you more than your mother and I could have." In other words, they would be close by in case anything happened at the boarding school. The corner of the naval commander's mouth twitched at the mention of his dead wife. Ralph nodded again, wishing that he could say something... anything. Tears threatened at the back of his throat, but he held them back with steely resolve. Never again would he cry in front of another adult. In truth, he didn't care how good these people were. He only wanted his father to stay.

He bit his inner cheek. Hard.

"This school should be good for you as well..." His father frowned. His voice hardened. "_Everything_... will return to normal soon, you'll see." He spoke with a commanding finality. Ralph's lips tightened at his implication.

_You will retain your sanity._

Without another word or moment of the rigid silence, he pulled Ralph into a rough embrace before clapping his shoulder once again. Despite how businesslike it all appeared, a small glimmer of sadness began to coat the older man's eyes.

"Bye dad." Ralph finally found the words this time, the hidden emotion causing his voice to crack. His father smiled at this and ruffled Ralph's golden head of hair like he used to do when he was little.

His father took his leave. His shiny boots echoed down the hall, while Ralph stood still within the guest room, feeling as empty and cold as the day when he had wept for the first time in years within the presence of an adult… after nearly meeting his gruesome end in a place far from here.

Ralph stayed behind while his father made his official leave out the Bradley's front door. In his mind, he was set on finally packing the remainder of his belongings... that is, what wasn't already brought to his designated room within the boarding school, yet he found himself sitting on the carpeted floor with his back against the post of the bed, staring at the white wall ahead.

'_You know that you shoulda seen your dad off n' stuff.' _The Piggy sounding voice pestered him.

"Shuddup," Ralph snapped at the unsympathetic, empty air.

It was good that his father didn't know about the occasional voices that intruded his thoughts. He was already worried about his nightmares, the kind that made him scream bloody murder at night, get hopelessly tangled within the sheets with an unhealthy-looking layer of sweat, slickening his body. His father tried hard to keep this from becoming common knowledge to prying ears. That his son might be cracked.

A small knock resounded from his door, causing an involuntary twitch from the boy.

"Ralph? May I come in?" It was Irene's muffled voice. Even after only meeting her once, Ralph recognized it. His uneasiness subsided, though was replaced with a new feeling of nervousness, one that caused his stomach to turn in on itself and his skin to tingle with heat. Whatever it was, it was more pleasant than the other kind of anxiety that normally shadowed him. He stood up, running a hand through his hair, forgetting that it was shorter and didn't need to be always pushed out of his eyes.

"Uh—yea." He spoke in broken fragments as he slid the meager pile of grey school uniforms to the side of his bed, now forming a lump of wrinkled cloth, just as the door creaked open.

Irene walked in; her strides lighter, free from adult supervision—at least for the time being. Her eyes observed him before noticing his attempt at clearing the bed of his clothes.

"I suppose you have yet to pack your things." She spoke more to herself than to him as she wandered over to the bed and sat herself on the end of it without as much as even looking at him for permission to do so. Either case, Ralph didn't care all that much. He continued to look at her as if she were a specimen that he had yet to decipher. He still liked her eyes the most, devoid of worldly knowledge, calming pools of simplicity that he wanted to submerge in. He found too late that he couldn't help his blatant staring, forgetting that it was impolite to do so.

Irene returned the look, wondering what was going on beneath the nervous boy's exterior. Though she had to hand it to him, he did handle himself well enough for someone that had been stranded for some time in God knows where. Her parents had told her to be kind and understanding towards him, that he might not yet be settled. Her eyes surveyed his golden locks, his light eyes, and his summer-toned skin. She dug the heel of her shoe into the knotted rug that lay at the foot of the guest bed before looking away.

"So… where'd you live before coming here?" At least she was trying to make conversation, she thought. The prospect of having someone around her age in her family's large estate had been an exciting idea—even if it was a boy, though now she wasn't so sure. He didn't seem like he wanted to be here at all.

Ralph gave off a slight shrug before answering.

"I've been all over, it seems. I try not to get too attached to anywhere in particular." He could probably name the places he _hadn't_ been to with more ease. "Why don't you tell me about this school…?"

"Well, it's an okay place." Irene paused, skipping over the facts that he would know, such as that it was Catholic and not far from her home.

"The boys and girls will be separated most of the time, though we may have some classes together." She looked down at her folded, sweating hands, attempting to keep her voice even. "If you'd like, we could even meet up during our free time or whenever they serve meals. And then there's morning mass on Sundays and Wednesdays…" She paused, trying to think of anything else. Then continued. "The teachers are decent—well, maybe there are a _few_ exceptions." She wore her mischievous grin that had learned to hold in careful check within the presence of their parents.

Ralph cracked a small smile at her for the first time since they'd met, feeling a small bit of amity with her over their preference against teachers. His more childish side won over the intruding adult side for that moment.

"And the students?" He asked as he leaned against the dresser.

Irene lost a little of her shine that she held a moment ago and shrugged. "Just like any other, I suppose."

Ralph felt awkward at her reaction and looked out his window, as if a distraction would pop up at any moment. He didn't want to lose the opportunity to make his first friend here. Then he would at least know _someone_ at this school.

"Are you hungry?" Irene jumped up from the bed, her face now eager, eased from her dampened mood. "Mother saw to it that something special was going to be served tonight, seeing as you're our guest and all."

Until she had asked, Ralph had been unaware as to how empty his stomach realy was. Lately, appetite had been eluding him, though now it seemed to grip him with a vengeance, payback for the recent times he'd ignored it.

"Sounds good."

Just then, the heavy, oak door opened to reveal a craggy-faced, thick-waisted rampart of a housekeeper. She glared at Ralph with all the warmth of Wales in December before turning her suspicious scrutiny over to Irene. Ralph couldn't help feeling a sudden flush come over his face, realizing that the housekeeper had expected to catch them doing something indecent. She wiped her hands on her starched white apron.

"Didn't expect you to be in here, missy," her rough tone indicating immediate displeasure. Her words were most contrary to the way that she had opened the door. "Dinner's ready."

Irene released an irritated sigh before swinging to her feet from the bed and was out the door. "Come now, Mina. It's not as if I'm _doing_ anything wrong by visiting our guest." Mina frowned, her thin lips disappearing. Ralph followed Irene, though felt the intense heaviness of the housekeeper's disapproval as he passed her into the hallway.

Dinner was pleasant enough. It was Mrs. Bradley that held Ralph's attention with stories of all the adventures and some miss-adventures that she remembered having with his mother when they were young girls. He almost forgot to also pay attention to his plate of food. Mrs. Bradley painted a vivacious picture of a young, almost mischievous girl with her words, giving Ralph another side to her memory. He even allowed himself a tiny grin at the description of how she got stuck in a tree, on account that her dress had become snagged within the high branches while climbing. Mrs. Bradley's cheeks were rosy with laughter at recounting the tale, while Mr. Bradley seemed to almost bristle at the idea of a girl climbing trees in her Sunday best like a wild animal. Irene was quiet, though Ralph caught her a few times sneaking glances at him before turning her intense gaze to her plate, cheeks turning pink.

Just as they finished desert, Ralph could hear the light patter of the earlier evening rain turn into a torrent. The wind bayed with violence against the sides of the house and was accompanied by the low rumbling of distant thunder. Ralph shivered, seeing a vision of the creepers blowing in the brutal winds of a similar storm, now only able to become sentient in memory. He pushed away the remnants of his bread pudding. His hands gripped the sides of his chair, his face feeling the drain of blood as he concentrated.

_This is the reality. I'm here… not there._ He quivered and almost felt like he was going to be sick with the effort.

"Ralph?" Mrs. Bradley said. He blinked before looking towards her, trying to keep a straight face. He was met with a worried expression. "Why don't you retire to your room? You look tired."

Not trusting his voice, he could only nod as he got up from the dinner table. His hands shook as he released his iron grip from the polished wood.

"Irene, please go with him. Make sure that he knows the way back to his room." He heard her say as he pushed in the chair, his eyes on the floor as he did so.

"Alright," Irene whispered.

He was pretty sure that he knew where his room was, but he followed her anyway. Now he was glad for her company upon seeing how dark the hallway had become. Since coming home, Ralph didn't do well with darkness—another thing that his father had added to the growing checklist of concerns. It made it more difficult to separate his nightmares from reality. Sometimes he could almost smell the wild moisture and hear the untamed liveliness of the jungle whenever he was in the dark, forgetting that he was in the confined safety of civilization. The nighttime was hard enough. He didn't need it creeping into his daylight hours as well.

It was all that he could do to maintain his fractured sanity—just enough so that he wouldn't instantly be checked into a madhouse. He'd heard horror stories about those places. It sounded like it would do far more harm than good. The thought made him uneasy as he twisted his fingers within his pant pockets. His father would never let that happen, he thought, repeating it within his mind just to reaffirm his uncertain belief.

The very idea of losing his sanity frightened him more than anything at the moment. All he wanted was to be accepted back into society without any worry or question, to live as if none of the premature growing shadows in his heart ever existed, as if they were never born. And yet there they were—continuing to gnaw at the corpse of his once thriving innocence and naivety.

Irene turned towards him once they reached his door.

"Are you alright?" She asked, her voice had an edge that Ralph didn't like.

"Perfect," was his tart reply. He narrowed his eyes though was sure that she couldn't see him through the dimness of the hall. She crossed her arms.

"Well, you look awful. Like you're going to be sick."

"Like I said—I'm fine." Ralph felt his voice become a bit harsher than he had intended, but he had been asked that irritating question several times throughout the years by his father. Now near strangers had to ask him as well. It's not as if he was off his rocker, Ralph thought. Yet.

So it only made him angry whenever someone asked for no apparent reason—at least to him.

Irene must have sensed his resentment, for she was quiet for a moment, breathing her own sigh of frustration before turning to leave. The silence caused Ralph to feel the prodding of guilt for getting angry and turned towards her, taking a shaky breath, terrified for a moment at the thought of being alone in the dark. No matter how silly it seemed.

"Wait," He swallowed.

He heard her pause in the hallway, though didn't turn around.

"Where's your room? I just want to, um… make sure someone's near." Ralph felt his cheeks burn, feeling ferocious shame for appearing weak in front of a girl.

"Just go to the foyer, up the stairs, and then turn right, my room is the second door down the hallway." Her voice tempered, letting Ralph breath a bit easier.

"Thank you." His voice was so soft, he wasn't sure if she heard him before opening his door and going inside. He felt instant humiliation the moment that he closed his door, feeling every bit a changed coward. What hurt worse was the fact that he wasn't like this before. He was always ready for a challenge, a bold leader without the protective reassurance from others. And now here he was, afraid of the shadows and of thunderstorms that reminded him of his innate wickedness. Pathetic… a mental case… lonesome… that's what he now thought himself.

He turned on a small light as he began to strip. His eyes wandered to the mirror hanging the instant that he pulled the shirt free of his head. He caught sight of the long scarred tissue on his chest. It was diagonal from his right shoulder down and across to the left side of his stomach. His fingers touched the smooth surface of the long line before quickly pulling his night t-shirt over his head. He remembered the feel of Jack's spear as it grazed him, how he threw it on impulse in the dazed stillness after Piggy had been pummeled by the boulder. It tore at his flesh and skin, though Ralph couldn't recall feeling pain, just mind-numbing adrenaline as he turned to run. Ralph shuddered as he turned out the light and lay in his bed, pulling the covers taut around himself, in recoiled acceptance towards the dark visions that would soon visit him… like they had done each and every night since being rescued.

Like he knew they would, they pulled him under the moment sleep took over. It wasn't light and gentle, but swift and irrepressible, drowning him with its exertion. Everything pounded so hard, his ears throbbed, his voice useless, and he could taste blood. He always tasted it.

With the iron tang present in his mouth, the creepers draped its weight about his frame; the boy with blistering red hair always came upon him. He suffocated him with his proximity, his heavy manifestation of murderous intend as he pinned him down. His eyes of ice would graze his body for several seconds before threading his fingers through his hair, an almost intimate gesture before forcing back his head, straining the expanse of his throat to him… vulnerable, pulsing flesh.

_A stick sharpened at both ends_…

Samneric's words vibrated through his mind. Jack leaned down until Ralph felt the savage's mouth against the shell of his ear and began to whisper things, reminding him of every death on the island, every detail that Ralph wanted to fade from his awareness. Every night the memories were reaffirmed, scratched upon his heart even more deeply than before so that they would never fade. Just like the visible scars upon his flesh—scars that betrayed him.

He woke with a strangled gasp. It was the middle of the night and he was already a pathetic, shaking, bundle of nerves. The sheets were still wrapped about him, almost suffocating, sticking to his sweaty flesh. Ralph's chest shook with silent, tearless sobs. His hands made their way to the sides of his head as he tried to ease away the twisted visions the clung to him like leeches, looking every bit the bizarre mental case that his father feared him to be. The unfamiliar room mocked him with its cold silence, with the fact that it lacked a comforting presence, anything to pull him from the nightmare's lethal waters that continued to threaten him. Threatening what little life he had left within him... the small amount of his precious soul that he clung to and fought so hard to protect.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed my writing, feel free to support me on ko-fi! (https://ko-fi.com/amrye) Thanks a million!


	2. Meet Fate, the Sadist

"_Never knowing what is real,_

_In the shadows you meet,_

_Never knowing what is true,_

_In the answers you seek,_

_Never knowing if,_

_Fate she hears me,_

_Fate stand near me,_

_Fate state clearly,_

_Whether there will be another card."_

_-Trans-Siberian Orchestra (Fate)_

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_._

_._

_._

Today was the first day of school and Ralph couldn't remember feeling so despondent since coming back from the island. The stiff collar of his freshly ironed school uniform instigated an itch that refused to leave all along the stretch of the tender skin of his neck. By the time that he had been summoned for breakfast, there was already some inflammation displayed beneath the white collar.

Grating the skin probably didn't helped. It only succeeded in causing it to grow an even angrier shade of red. Irene looked much the same as he did, aside from the pleated skirt instead of trousers, but everything else, even down to the expression of uncomfortable agitation matched him. Mrs. Bradley's cheery disposition rubbed Ralph the wrong way this morning. Not wanting to pointlessly say something cheeky or appear rude, he concentrated on his bowl of porridge, attempting to ignore how it seemed to have plastered to the roof of his mouth and eventually to the lining of his stomach.

It's never been his favorite.

He moved the chunky remains with his spoon, resting his head against his fist, momentarily forgetting that it was impolite to have elbows on the table. That is, until Mina nudged him none too gently as she walked briskly past, collecting dishes.

Everything after the scant breakfast was horribly hazy and hurried. The remainders of their belongings, which Ralph remembered to pack earlier that morning, were swiftly rushed to the vehicle in the driveway. The Bradley's were saying their goodbyes and Ralph couldn't help but to feel rather awkward, waiting and standing in the lawn by himself as Irene's mother smothered her daughter with kisses. It wasn't long before Mrs. Bradley rushed over to Ralph and instantly crushed him with a stiflingly warm hug.

Ralph stiffened before forcing himself to relax. No woman had showed him such motherly affection in many years and he wasn't sure if he was more uncomfortable with it or missed the physical contact. He caught Irene rolling her eyes the moment her mother released Ralph from her clutches, checking to see that he had all his belongings in the vehicle for the third time.

"Mother… we're really going to be lagging behind if you don't let us go."

"OK—ok I just wanted to check." Mrs. Bradley chastised her daughter lightly before giving them both a final peck on their foreheads.

"Mum!" Irene said, horrified.

In response, Mrs. Bradley only smiled before retreating back to the house. Irene's face was still enflamed with agitation as she tugged on Ralph's arm, still immobile the moment her mother kissed his temple, unsure how he was supposed to react.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled under her breath as they got into the car. By the time they finally pulled out of the driveway, Ralph noted how the storm's ravaging from the night before displayed its evidence on the streets. The walkways were slick with the settlement of rainwater, although the sky still resumed its gloomy outlook on life with the emergence of more ashen clouds.

Ralph didn't mind them. They were predictable. Safe.

Irene's hand remained upon his forearm while the driver took them to their destination. Ralph could read the slight changes within the pressure she applied, as if wordlessly signaling to him where they were going to take a turn. The streets were busy with their normal bustle—the morning rush, it would seem.

By the time the large, prestigious Catholic school loomed nearer, Ralph detected a few kids around their age and older that wore the same gray and navy uniforms. Most walked by themselves while a few were in clusters. He had a feeling that everyone had already established their groups of friends and were simply returning for another year. For a brief moment, he wondered where Irene placed herself within this school, for she was like them—a returnee. Him? He was an outsider—the new kid that would breech their already fortified social barriers.

His thoughts were interrupted the moment that the actual school came into view. It was almost as tall and imposing as the cathedral next to it, both well-worn and faded. Although it wasn't difficult to see that it was also greatly loved, for there remained a certain beauty within its walls, admirable in the care that it took to preserve its former glory.

It was said that only the most respectable students were admitted within this school. Ralph snorted softly at this thought, earning a curious side-long glance from Irene. The car soon stopped and the driver helped to unload their few belongings that had yet to be taken to their rooms. Like Ralph, Irene previously had the majority of her things already brought.

The driver, after making curt, polite goodbyes, drove away, leaving him and Irene on the school's freshly cut grass. It was still fairly early, so there weren't that many students about, but Ralph did catch a few looking at them from faraway. Irene picked up her suitcase and began to scan the area before picking out one of the faraway buildings after exasperatingly nudging her fair-haired companion for his attention.

"I need to go over there… that's the girls' dormitory," she stated.

As much as he hated to admit it, the idea of her leaving him alone, even if it would only be briefly didn't settle with him.

"Where am I to go?" Ralph said, his voice coming out more casual and confident than he felt. A touch of confusion crossed her gaze and before she could open her mouth to reply, Ralph heard his name.

"Mr. Medevane? Ralph Medevane?"

Ralph started slightly, much to his annoyance, before turning to face a stooped, old woman. She had a surprisingly strong voice considering what her frail frame suggested.

"_He sure is a nervous little thing," _she thought_._ She smiled at his reaction to her voice, mentally concluding that the boy's father wasn't exaggerating upon warning some of the administrative staff of his son's tense temperament. Though she sounded firm, her face was not unkind as she approached him. "Well, then Mr. Medevane… it certainly is a pleasure to meet you. You may address me as Ms. Hauke and I will be showing you to your room."

Ralph smiled as best he could under the circumstances and clutched his suitcase tighter, feeling his limbs grow heavy.

"Um… excuse me ma'am," Irene hurried over to Ralph's side. A strong wind caused her braid to wipe behind her back. "Would it be alright if I were to accompany you? Just briefly… before I get settled." Irene spoke quickly, though couldn't hide the slight stutter behind her inquiry, feeling the disapproval already radiating from the old woman's feeble frame as she turned to regard the two of them with a guarded eye.

"Are you two related?" She asked, suspicion deeply creased her already crumpled face.

"N-No. But we're practically like siblings. It's his first time here… and I want to make sure that everything's suitable." She stared blankly ahead; telling her white lie as simply as if it were fact. Despite her small deception, Ralph felt odd relief for her willingness to accompany him, if even for a bit longer.

The old woman looked at her hard for a moment longer, her face losing a bit of its former warmth. "Do as you wish, but keep in mind that you are to be ready in your uniform and at the chapel before morning mass." She replied tersely before turning around and resuming her sluggish walk towards the boys' dormitory. Ralph exhaled slowly and glanced at Irene with a small smile to which she blushed lightly in return.

"I'm just curious as to where your room is," she spoke under her breath so that their escort couldn't catch a word. "That's all." She rolled her eyes before her amused lips twitched, staring ahead. Ralph's smile got a little bigger, almost teasingly as he made an unspoken offer to carry her suitcase. She fiercely swatted his hand away just as they finally made it to the large, ornate doors of the building.

The woman opened the door for them as they trudged through, admiring the quaint elegance of the old place. As they made their way through the halls, Ralph began to lose count of how many crucifixes they had passed on the walls. Ms. Hauke stopped suddenly at room 122B and opened the door. Ralph walked in, immediately recognizing the rest of his things placed within a neat pile in the middle of the room and added his suitcase filled mostly with the uniforms to the bulk. He was abruptly stricken with disbelief when he realized that there was only one twin-sized bed in the room along with a desk, wardrobe, and dresser.

"Um… where will my roommates be staying?" He asked, feeling a little stupid for asking the question, seeing the obvious answer in the form of one bed and yet still wondering why he was placed in a 'one-person' room.

"You didn't know?" Ms. Hauke's voice carried from the doorway. "Your father specifically requested that you be lodged in a room by yourself. Of course, there is the washroom down the hall, which you are still required to share with everyone else on this floor."

Ralph's fists clenched briefly at his sides as a slight sweat broke out upon his brow. He felt the heavy settlement of deep resentment drop like burning coal into his stomach.

_Of course _he would request something like that_._ _Of course _the commander wouldn't want anyone aware of the mental mess, a broken disappointment, plagued by the vilest of nightly visions. It was something that would be passed around like honeyed words, whored into something unrecognizable after its spread by several blathering mouths. Especially when the vulture-media would flock towards the very mention of one of the '_island boys'_ slipping within their masked performance… faltering within their struggle to fit back into society. They had been keeping tabs on every single one of them since their rescue, as most expected them to slowly meander their way over into the local madhouse.

He could only nod at Ms. Hauke, acknowledging her words, though the hot heaviness within his gut remained. Irene peered at him from the hallway, only noticing a fragment of the anger that flitted briefly across his face.

"We will leave you now to allow you to get ready," Ms. Hauke gestured Irene to get away from the door as she began to close it.

Before it did, Irene called out to him. "I'll see you, Ralph."

And then there was silence. Ralph looked about the strange, empty room. The isolation instantaneously thickened the air, suffocating him. He quickly opened the suitcase that held his uniforms and began to hang them in the wardrobe, his mind and fingers itching for immediate distraction. Everything was grey, white, and navy, along with the school's emblem. Keeping in mind what he had seen the other kids wearing, he began to strip from his everyday clothes and had pulled on the school slacks, collared shirt and blazer, though had some trouble getting his tie on correctly.

_It has been awhile_… the awkward thought came. He left it, deeming his attempt halfway decent. At least.

He left his room soon after, not wanting to linger in the silent, blank room and was soon out the dormitory building, his eyes avoiding the polished, gleaming crucifixes as if they were the very eyes of God himself.

The weather somehow managed to look even poorer than before, slightly darker. He sighed at this just as he saw Irene emerge from a building on the other side of the campus sporting her school uniform as well. She spotted him across the lawn as they made their way towards the chapel, meeting each other in the middle.

"Hey," Irene spoke, almost cheerful at catching him before mass. Ralph echoed her greeting with less enthusiasm, though was glad to see her. There were a considerably growing number of students emerging from the various buildings.

Curious glances had already made their way towards him, his skin instantly prickled uncomfortably beneath their scrutiny. Some of the more officious-looking boys were sizing him up, wondering which one of them he would end up challenging as the school year progresses. There were girls that glanced over as well, though Ralph pretended not to notice. A few of their giggles reached his ears, causing his face to burn as his stomach suddenly felt like it was sinking in thick, gritty sand.

Irene's eyes followed a particular group of girls that they saw the closer they got to the stain-glassed chapel. They flocked around a pale girl with stick-straight black hair that fell down the length of her back. Although she was just merely pretty, she commanded the group's attention as if she released potent pheromones. She glanced over towards Ralph and Irene before giving off a small, yet charming smile. Ralph stiffened, his face involuntarily warmed again. Her smile widened slightly at the reaction as he swiftly tore his gaze away from her. Irene grumbled something unintelligible beneath her breath.

Irene gently tugged on the sleeve of his blazer, guided him to the throng of kids filtering within the chapel. His eyes burned with curiosity as he glanced back at where the raven-haired girl stood. She was gone.

Just as they were approaching the crowds of uniformed kids trying to gain entrance into the building, Ralph felt the light drizzle of misty rain upon his face. Irene grumbled quietly.

"Just great," she murmured as she grabbed a hold of Ralph's hand before pushing her way through the crowd. Ralph followed, at a loss for words or even a reaction as she made her way in, her iron grip on his hand never slackened. By the time they reached inside, she led him to one of the back pews. They sat for a good minute before they realized that they were still holding hands and flinched back their extremity. Irene blushed brightly while Ralph looked away, trying to hide the fact that his own flushed face was giving away his uneasiness.

"Hello," a voice interrupted his tumultuous thoughts and he faced the speaker. It was the raven-haired girl from before and she was seated in the row ahead of them, completely turned backwards. Irene looked up at the girl; her face was as dull as stone as she greeted her back, her voice as unenthusiastic as her expression advocated. "Hello…"

The raven-haired girl looked at Irene, a look of mock horror and disdain on her otherwise bright face. "Why Irene, there's no need to be so sullen. Not when you've brought such an interesting company with you." She turned her face to Ralph with a charismatic grin; her lively eyes meeting his. A few of the girls sitting nearby poked their heads around to watch the small exchange and to examine the new student. An apparent rarity at this school.

"Why not? It's the first day of school. It's a perfectly normal thing to be unhappy about." Irene spoke in her stiff voice again, though her face withdrew even more as she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

The raven-haired girl clicked her tongue in annoyance before turning to Ralph. "Well, apparently she is too busy being in a sour mood to introduce us. I'm Cynthia." She switched back to her warm smile, a strange contrast to the nearly biting tone towards Irene. A lock of her lustrous dark hair spilled over her shoulder as she leaned over to extend her hand.

"I'm Ralph," He spoke for the first time in a while and was surprised to find his voice completely intact. He took her hand, unexpectedly noticing the softness of her skin. He released her hand first.

"Well, I hope we get to see more of each other soon. Perhaps we may have some classes together?" She spoke, curling the edges of her mouth slightly. In the corner of his eye, Ralph noticed Irene awkwardly shifting in her seat.

"Perhaps," Ralph ended their exchange suddenly just as the doors to the chapel were shut. Cynthia quickly went back to her seat. Its finality resonated throughout the room, causing the talking to decrease to that of whispered murmurs just as the brief, morning introduction began. Ralph stole a look over at Irene, instantly noticed her obvious discomfort though the stiff expression though couldn't think of an explanation for why she was so bothered. Instead, he focused in front, hoping that the tension would dissipate on its own.

He barely listened to the verses that were being recited. As the stilted words filtered through the damp air, the light patter of the rain outside could be heard as well as a few whispered murmurs amidst the students. Ralph's eyes appraised the crowd, allowing his curious sight dominance over his half-hearted listening.

Being towards the back, he didn't have the greatest view, but there was little that could have blocked his view of the stately, dark robes of the choirboys that filled the front row. Their capped heads tilted in superficial devotion to the speaker. The very sight of their caps put his heart on edge, caused anxiety ridden sweat to lightly sheen his brow. His breath came a bit heavier at the onslaught of his painful visions. For a moment, he thought the rain outside gained momentum to that of a wrathful storm and could feel and smell Simon's slippery blood beneath his fingertips, itching for more susceptible flesh to desecrate.

A small noise must have escaped his throat, for Irene's hand was immediately on his strained forearm, bringing him crashing back into reality. He was startled with the death grip at which he clutched the edge of their bench on each side of his knees. His knuckles were white with strain. His skin drained of blood; cool against the warmth of Irene's hand. Ralph released a breath he didn't know that he was holding and risked a glance over at her. She met his gaze sidelong, her eyes somewhat widened. He forced his body to still—to calm. With effort, he released his hold on the bench, liberating the tension within his muscles as his palms flattened against the pew.

Her hand slipped down his arm, her fingers curling gently over the top of his hand. Ralph leaned slightly towards her, feeling himself return to normal as the droning voice came to a close. Prayer was called for.

Everyone bowed their heads, whether out of true worship or duty. He saw Irene's head incline from the corner of his eye, though hesitated. He felt too dirty, too unworthy and couldn't find it in himself to do the simple action.

_Come on_... He berated himself. _It's just a simple movement. Just pretend. _And yet he couldn't. He was a lone face, staring straight ahead amidst a sea of diligent, praying students.

And yet, he wasn't alone.

Curiosity allowed his eyes to wander and the sight nearly sent him into another mental fit. Across the aisle, on the other side down a few rows, sat two boys. Identical in every way. Ralph's breath caught in his throat as blatant recognition assaulted his mind. He felt his lips part slightly at the vision of the twins that he thought he would never see again. A flash of blistering resentment burned his face, fleetingly recalling their betrayal the day they were rescued. It quickly cooled and was forgotten when he noticed Sam, the twin closest to him in his line of vision turn his head slightly, his eyes were glued to the front row.

Ralph followed his gaze to the black-clad choristers. Three heads were slightly raised above the rest, staring ahead. Not quite bowing, but also trying not to be so observable in their repudiation. What instantly caused his face to lose its former color was the mesh of fiery red hair abounding from beneath one of the flat black caps that kept their head raised. Ralph felt his mouth dry and his throat constrict painfully.

_No, no, no! God didn't hate him _this_ much…did he? _

Surely enough, the instigator of his nightmares was living, breathing, and thriving in the same room as him. Ralph bit his inner cheek until the metallic taste of blood engulfed his senses. The other two choristers had dark hair, leaving Ralph with only guesses as to their identities.

He brought his gaze back to the twins, stunned to find Eric now openly gawking at him, while Sam continued to face forward. Eric's face was a fanatical mixture of astonishment and humiliation. His cheeks darkened to that of a cherry red when his eyes connected with Ralph's, causing him turn back to the front, almost violently as his gaze fastened to the floor. Sam reacted to the quick movement of his brother and they seemed to be talking in whispers.

Then, tentatively, Sam's eyes came up, meekly inquisitive amongst the crowds, no doubt searching for whatever had startled Eric. Ralph continued to stare, expressionless, when his eyes finally landed on the blond. Similar to Eric, Sam's face burned and he mimicked his twin's bowed head, staring now at the floor. The sound of the light rain stopped.

The prayer ended and the students were dismissed. The quietness exploded with the sounds of the students conversing with their friends. Ralph went with the flow of the traffic outside where they were permitted brief passing time in the lawn. In the bustle, Ralph got separated from Irene, but was surprised to see the twins fighting the crowd, making their way painfully towards him. He looked away.

"Ralph."

One of them spoke as Ralph turned to face them, staggered by their suddenly close proximity. They both wore their school uniform, though Sam's was decidedly a messier representation than Eric's pristine image. Despite this, both of their dirty blond hair fell in slight disarray and their eyes were heavy with guilt, yearning and starving for something. Ralph was somber with sudden sympathy, feeling an odd comradely with them, despite still tasting the bitterness of remembered treachery, even if the blame didn't belong entirely to them.

"We're so—so s-sorry," Sam choked his voice threatening tears. Eric's face was equally downcast, though his speech failed to reiterate on his behalf.

Ralph nodded quietly, feeling the heaviness behind their gaze as he forced his eyes back to their faces. Their eyes—still dark, still haunted with the memories… just as his were. In that moment, Ralph felt tired. Weary from holding onto his tumultuous resentment and found that now, after truly looking into their tired, troubled faces, that he had already forgiven them.

"It's alright," Ralph's reassuring, albeit weary voice escaped him. He felt a small weight lift amidst the minefield of his murky, torment of a mind. Both the twins seemed to bask in their relief, a small bit of brightness crept into their eyes, restoring a scant sliver of their old selves. They hurriedly both held their hands out for him at once. Ralph rubbed the back of his neck, and felt himself smile a little at their eagerness and involuntary imitation of each other. Sam chuckled as Ralph took his hand first and then Eric's.

"Ralph, there you are." Irene's voice permeated the air. She joined their little group. Ralph introduced her to the twins, who apparently were also new to the school.

"Yeah, our parents—"Sam started.

"—thought we needed a change," Eric interjected; his eyes flitted to Ralph before inspecting the ground at their feet. He understood. Ralph wondered if their parents thought they were as mad as his father apparently found him since returning from the island. Irene caught their unspoken interaction, but said nothing.

Soon Cynthia and her giggling throng of girls came over, saying something about how Irene always hogged the attention of the newbies. Irene breathed an irritated snort as Cynthia introduced herself to the twins. Sam's cheeks had a touch of pink as he shook Cynthia's hand first. He grinned widely. Eric rolled his eyes slightly at his brother's display of prepubescent affection. She seemed equally charmed by the twins.

"This is sure to be an interesting year with such fascinating additions," She spoke with a small smile, her eyes flashing playfully from Sam and Eric to Ralph. Ralph shuffled uncomfortably as Cynthia's friends began to pull her away from their group to another.

"Well that sure was annoying," Irene mumbled beneath her breath. Ralph caught her words and was about to say something to her until she suddenly stiffened with a fake smile of politeness plastered over her pale face.

"Good morning, Father Whitman," Irene said.

Sam, Eric and Ralph turned to likewise greet a slightly older-than-middle-aged man in his standard, priestly attire. His hair was on the thinning, grey side, though he still retained the appearance of strength and inner vitality. He was a man that still held onto many more years. His eyes were of the palest grey and would have been unnerving had he not worn a smile.

"Good morning, Miss Bradley," he spoke in a serene voice as his eyes surveyed the new faces of the twins and lastly Ralph. His gaze lingered slightly longer on Ralph as if almost being able to place a name to his face. He pointed mildly at the twins. "Mr. and Mr. Maxwell." He smiled as they nodded courteously. He shook their hands, welcoming them to the school.

He turned to Ralph. "And I believe that I remember meeting your father. The naval officer, am I correct?" Ralph barely nodded. At one point, he was supremely proud to have a father in such an admired position, though that surge of egotism had been dormant from him for a while now.

"Then you're Ralph Medevane. It is, indeed, a pleasure." He clasped both his clammy hands around Ralph's, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise slightly, instantly feeling uneasy.

"Th-thank you, sir," Ralph stuttered slightly. Whitman released his hand before turning his attention to the rest of the group.

"If you have time this evening, we're having open choir practice. All students are welcome to experience how some of us spend our after-school hours. Aside from my customary duties, I also serve as the choir director. We've already begun preparations for the upcoming holidays." Whitman smiled slightly, showing his teeth. Ralph felt the blood drain from his face at the mention of the choir. Irene immediately thanked him for his considerate offer when the strained silence prevailed. Even the twins looked like they were about to be sick.

He took his leave with a polite, slight inclination of the head after welcoming them again to the academy. Ralph's eyes followed the man until he passed the group of choristers. The wind caused their ludicrous outfits to swell in the wind. Most of the boys were laughing and talking amongst themselves, behaving like any other schoolboy aside from a handful. Ralph's eyes flitted over to the faces of the dark-haired choirboys that he hadn't recognized from before. And now with their faces partially revealed, he felt his stomach churn. It was Roger, Bill and Maurice.

A splash of bright red entered his concentrated vision of the choristers and Ralph finally beheld the face of Jack, something that he hadn't seen since rescue. Now being in the stage between childhood and adulthood, there were already vast changes within his appearance, Ralph noted, as he scrutinized the object of his nightmares. He was taller, even more so than Ralph, and the sleek contours of his body were already giving into the shape of that of an older teenager. Even his face was somewhat different, less severe and boney, as if he were finally starting to grow into it. The aura of intensity was still present, the blatant quality of severity within the conceited way that he set his jaw and surveyed the throng of students made it difficult to misplace him.

_He looks well enough_, Ralph grudgingly admitted…_ less ugly_.

Ralph could feel his fear and loathing for him stir deep within his stomach, an invisible parasite that clawed at him. And it was in that very instant, almost as if the redhead felt the force of the other's stare, looked directly back at him. His ice blue eyes shaded with brazen shock. It quickly relented; however, as Jack remained fixated on him, keenly taking in every millimeter, every contour, disturbingly similar to what Ralph had just previously done to the chorister.

Then like an abrupt alter in the wind, something smoldering touched Jack's gaze, something that almost seemed to melt its icy exterior, before reverting back to his old, devious smirk. Ralph blinked in confusion and a small bit of fear fluttered beneath his skin, unprepared for the odd look and turned away from him, the first to break the spell.

_Perhaps he's gone as batty as the rest of us_. Ralph silently told himself in order to ease the apprehension over his former rival's strange expression. He tried in vain to listen to Irene, Sam and Eric's conversation, but was distracted by the image of Jack's face. Unbeknownst to him, Roger's dark gaze was upon him almost as soon as he had looked away. His expression was impassive, masking his obscure contemplation before peering back over at Jack.

The afternoon wore sluggishly on as the students finished the last of their unpacking, finalized their schedules, and familiarized themselves with the rest of the school that they might have forgotten since last being there. For new students, this was a necessity. Ralph felt like he had been run ragged by the end of the day and was more than ready for bed. The evening stretched on as he wandered the hall until he came upon the washroom. He normally took his showers at night. It was an advantage, seeing as he wouldn't have to fight the morning rush to get in.

Standing now, dressed in his nightclothes with the damp towel still hanging over his shoulder, he surveyed his barren room. He hated being alone. Even if his father thought it better this way than to be thought bonkers by roommates, Ralph would have vehemently disagreed. Especially after the events on the island, he hated forced solitude. No one knew what lonely was until they experienced what he did—stuck on a small island with the majority of the inhabitants bend on killing him in a gruesome way… his only friends dead. Ralph flinched at his dark musings; stinging wetness pricked the back of his eyes as he grabbed the post of his bed, mentally steadying himself, forcing back the images into the silent void of his mind.

"I need sleep," he said to no one. His voice sounded dull amidst the empty air. He turned out the lights, threw the towel on the floor, and was out before even a minute had passed.

His dreams displayed his memories like an ugly mural; things that he wished would disappear. He never expected his subconscious to be merciful, so he dealt with it as best as he could. It was routine for him to be woken in the middle of the night; the sheets strangled about his thighs, brow moistened with sweat, messy hair hung carelessly over his forehead, and heart pounding within his chest. This dream was particularly violent, a reenactment of the hunt for him before their rescue… only there never was a rescue… never in his dreams. It always ended with his death. He screamed. He screamed until his voice was worn with the effort, until his throat was scratched and raw.

So intense were his movements, Ralph only woke, escaped from the nightly assault, when his overheated body collided with the cold, wooden floor. Ralph panted, feeling his heart continue to thrash within his chest as he slowly got up; his sleep laden arms trembled slightly beneath his weight_. _Fat tears of gratitude escaped his eyes, dripping silently onto the floor.

Gratitude for the fact that he still breathed. That those spears had not pierced his flesh. That his blood had not stained the island.

_I'm alive… I'm alive… and I'm miserable as hell._

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**If you like, you should tell me. ;) **


	3. Tyrannical Chapel Specters

"_Wherever God erects a house of prayer, The Devil always builds a chapel there; and 'twill be found, upon examination, the latter has the largest congregation."_

_-Daniel Defoe_

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Ralph ran his hand through his sleep mussed hair before getting himself up from the floor, forcing it into an even more disheveled state. The golden strands now stuck in curious, new directions. Cold fingers fumbled blindly upon the nightstand before finally grasping his wristwatch.

It was two in the morning.

A groan passed restless lips before the watch was tossed back with a loud clatter. Suddenly feeling the call of nature and hating it for its demand at the most ill-timed moments, he crossed the room and slipped into his shoes before leaving. He wandered down the hall, groggy eyes in search for the washroom. The air was cooler in the somewhat drafty hallways, forcing goosebumps to form across the span of his exposed forearms. He crossed them against his thin, grey t-shirt, receiving little warmth from the action.

Upon finally finding it, he opened the door to reveal a small group of boys conversing in low voices near the window. The only prominent one within the washroom. His slowly stirring mind counted. There were three of them, all still wearing their bedraggled school clothes, though Ralph paid them little heed, turning his drowsy gaze from them as he walked towards the opposite wall with the urinals. He glimpsed at his reflection in the mirror above the sinks across the stalls, noticing dark, almost bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes. He turned hastily away from the strange reflection—resentment for the foreign boy with the aged eyes, mismatched with his youth, settled heavy and tight over his stomach. Everything grew quiet.

As soon as he was finished and began making his way towards the sinks, he felt a startling pair of hands firmly grab his shirt from behind. Another pair seized his arm, fat fingers dug into sensitive flesh, while the other that had his shirt wildly took his other arm in a steely grip that refused to budge. They pinned him to the cool, tiled wall, his head making sharp contact with it. Ralph's lazy stupor brusquely left him, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head.

"Stop! What the hell are you doing?" Ralph shouted, trying to create as much of a racket as he could. He struggled, though it was rather useless, seeing as the two were much larger than him. The third, though smaller, was clearly the conspirator of the small bunch with his triumphant, wicked looking grin. He stood in front.

"Why, hello there," he drawled, his droopy eyes looking on, amused towards Ralph. "So… it slipped our minds that we have yet to introduce ourselves to you, seeing as you're new. And it would be completely rude of me to forget to initiate you _properly_ into this school."

Ralph blinked at him, fighting the impulse to roll his eyes. He wasn't stupid. He knew where this was going.

"This goes way back. It's practically a tradition we hold here. Wouldn't want to break it, now would we?" The boy smirked at him, completely elated at the prospect of some entertainment for the evening. "It would make you rather unpopular with the rest of us. Plus we will be making sure that you're fully—"

"Will you just cut the shit and tell me what I have to do," Ralph bluntly interrupted. He was quite frankly, still exhausted upon waking up from another of his energy-sapping nightmares and knew that even if he did get away from the group, they'd chase him around campus until he did whatever they wanted. And he didn't particularly feel like letting them know which room he was in… even if they might figure that out eventually.

The three were quiet for a moment, assessing him before the two that held his arms looked to their conspirator, clearly baffled over what to do next. The frontal boy's eyebrow twitched. "Fine," he said. "Seeing as you're so eager to get started—"He waved away the two's grip on Ralph's arms.

"You gotta go into the chapel… go straight in there and take the communion wine. Bring it back to us." The two boys on each side of Ralph snickered heartily. The frontal boy beamed, proud of his idea, and watched for the blond's reaction. If he refused, there was always the more physical alternative, which provided them with just as much entertainment. Ralph looked down at the tiled floor, feeling his gut twist.

"And what if it's not there?" he countered.

"You better pray that you find it there or you're just going to have to do another ritual tomorrow night," the boy's eyes glinted with the possibilities filtering through his mind.

"Fine," Ralph spoke in a low, quiet voice. _Filthy savages_.

The boys laughed some more, while the one in front glared at them. "C'mon, guys—have some class; this is a grade-A mission. One of the best initiations I've ever thought of. Let's go do this." His face still plastered with condescending excitement as he left the washroom. His friends shoved Ralph along, telling him how honored he should feel at getting such an elite mission. One that would show his worth. Ralph fought the urge to mutter a sarcastic retort currently brewing within his mind, though settled with trying not to think of how stupid the whole affair was.

By the time they were outside the boy's dormitories, they felt a strong wind claw at their nightclothes, ruffling their hair. The night was surprisingly clear compared to the cloudy morning and afternoon. The star speckled sky displayed a full moon, giving off an eerie glow to the timeworn buildings. As they approached the chapel, Ralph was relieved to see that there was no movement from anywhere else thus far. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble on his first day of being there. The stain-glassed windows were dark, giving off none of the beautifully colored light from before, only revealing the oppressive shadows from within. Ralph's insides shivered at the deadness of everything. Even his hazers seemed to have been slightly spooked by the sight.

"Well, we're… here," the leader forced a small, unconvincing laugh as they approached the chapel doors. They were ajar. The hazers exchanged nervous glances with each other.

"Um… w-why are the d-doors open?" One of the boys next to Ralph stuttered. A strong wind whistled through the trees. They all cringed.

"You idiots," the leader spat. "Someone just forgot to shut them properly and the wind must've blown them open a little… God, you're a bunch of bleeding pansies." And with that, they all turned to Ralph, waiting for him to make his move.

He took a few steps ahead of them, trying to ignore the sudden nervousness that now threatened his look of indifference, sprung from the intense fear of the others. Initially, he hadn't thought much of it. Fear was contagious, it would seem.

A memory from the island flashed through his mind, of when Ralph, Jack, and Roger all froze upon moving closer to the mountain with the supposed beast on it. Neither of them wanted to go first… until Ralph somewhat goaded Jack into doing it, asking if he was afraid. Jack, in his obstinacy, would never admit to anything of the sort, especially in front of the Chief (of the time) and had taken the first steps into the unpredictable darkness.

_Well if he can do it, so can I._

Ralph approached the jarred doors, one of them creakily swayed in the wind as he took tentative steps into the dark chapel. He was faintly awed by the sight of the moonlight filtering in through the stain-glassed windows, decorating the pews and aisle with uniform shapes and dim colors. His eyes adjusted within several seconds to the point where he could see the faint outlines of the front section of the church, which was even more thickly bathed in shadows. He took a few more steps down the aisle, now in-between the pews before he heard the creaking of the old doors again. Not paying much attention to them, he continued to admire the nightly vision of the church. It was when he heard the doors slam shut that Ralph felt the rise of latent panic, feeling nearly claustrophobic in the dark-enclosed space. He ran back to the doors, banging on the thick, rattling wood with his fists.

"Hey!" He shouted, but could only hear violent fits of laughter on the other side. Soon the amused howling faded and was exclusively replaced by the thick muteness of solitude. He strained at opening the doors, and knew for certain after several fruitless tries, that they wouldn't budge. They had locked him in! The entire thing was probably a setup. He cried a small string of obscenities before remembering that he was in a chapel. Empty or not, he was conditioned enough by society to feel badly about it. So he fell silent.

Feeling a little defeated, he walked up the aisle, towards the dark front of the chapel and began to wonder how much trouble he was going to be in when morning came and someone from the administration found him here. Ralph sighed, agitated and tired upon reaching the podium. He highly doubted that there would be any communal wine here anyway. They wouldn't leave stuff like that just lying around, Ralph pondered as he circled the podium, leaning against the smooth wood once he reached the back. Feeling curious and a bit bored, he kneeled down to look at the compartments of the podium, poking his fingers in some, seeing if any would give away. He found several stacks of papers, most likely sermon notes, but a small, tiny opening popped open that he would have completely missed had he not been feeling around in the dark, focusing on touch instead of sight. He reached in and his fingertips met with smooth glass.

Even more curious than before, Ralph reached in further, grasped at it, and pulled. Out popped a bottle of gin. He recognized it by the label when he slanted it gradually towards the window-filtered moonlight.

"What the—", he was interrupted by the sudden clamor of a door behind him opening as he still faced the podium. A light shown onto his face as he turned towards the noise, briefly blinding his sight.

_Oh, shit. I'm done for. _Ralph swallowed with great difficulty, waiting for the impending shout, demanding his explanation for why he was there... _and what he was doing_. Ralph blushed madly when he remembered the gin still in his hand and suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.

"Well, well, Ralph… I never took you for one to have such interesting hobbies."

The beam of light clicked off, allowing Ralph to adjust once again to the darkness within seconds. He could only see a vague outline, though the voice rung a startling chord of familiarity. Nothing would make him forget that voice—silken and pleasant, yet treacherous.

The shadow moved closer to the podium. A shaft of the fallen moonlight poured over the figure's explosion of untidy, red hair. Ralph's body reacted involuntarily and backed away—too fast, he noted a bit too late—as he felt the edge of a table grind painfully into his lower back. The bottle slipped from his clammy palm, hitting the dense carpet, creating only a light thump as the thick glass made contact. His body thrummed with sinister anticipation. Here he was alone and locked in a dark room with one of _them_. And not just _any_ one of them… Jack.

He wanted nothing more in that moment than to be swallowed by the earth, to be taken anywhere away from the savage that stood a mere arm's length away from him. He was dressed in the normal school attire and looked down at Ralph with the same odd expression from earlier. Ralph's eyes averted, believing it to simply be a trick of the deprived light, for when he looked back; the familiar, cool stare was intact over his freckled face.

Ralph got himself up quickly, adjusting disheveled clothing.

"What are you doing here?" Ralph murmured, low and frigid. He turned his face slightly, unwilling to look directly at his former rival.

"Funny. I could ask you the same thing," Jack said, though his voice was completely devoid of humor… that is until he picked up whatever fell to the ground, his eyes squinted slightly in the bad light. Then, a peculiar noise rose from the back of his throat. He was laughing.

Shock tightened Ralph's stomach upon hearing such a sound coming from him; he snapped his head back towards the chorister, a look of bewilderment and disbelief crossing his features. At one point Jack clutched at his sides, he was laughing so hard, though miraculously held onto the bottle. Only then did it start to grate on the blond's nerves. It wasn't _that_ funny… or was it? He flushed.

"So… do you like drinking in chapels… or are you actually sneaking around, pilfering _sacred_ items from this _devout_ building?" His barbed words were dripping with sarcasm, but remnants of the slackened laughter continued to dart about the edges of his speech, barely able to make what he was saying coherent.

The wild redness from before returned to Ralph's face with a vengeance. He looked down at the floor, waiting for the laughter to die. It did eventually, though the amused glimmer within Jack's eyes never truly left.

"It's nothing. Certainly none of _your_ concern," Ralph said, refusing to indulge him any further. He would certainly not be laughed at again. He just wanted Jack gone.

"It sure as hell looks like nothing. Judging by those three locking you in here…" Again with the sarcasm. It ended with a fluid shrug of Jack's shoulders, as if the truth were fairly dull compared to either of his suggested scenarios. He carefully settled the bottle on the podium, so that it faced the sea of pews, standing proud and clearly visible. How theatrical.

"You saw that?" Ralph inquired. His eyes were drawn towards the bottle before slinking back to the chorister. A stomach-turning brew of confusion and mortification burned beneath his skin. He was sure that there was no one else here by the time he had arrived.

"Hm," Jack turned to face him, his shadow stalking closer as long fingers tapered along the side the podium—deceptively affectionate, though the raw amount of stifling intensity shone through his gaze as it landed once more upon Ralph. His jaw was set hard. The overall regard set Ralph on edge, instantly imagining how a cat might sometimes tenaciously toy with its captured game.

"I passed them on the lawn, obviously pleased with themselves… so I went to see the damage." Here he grinned, with nimble ease, a contrast to his tense body as he drew even closer to Ralph, his eyes making a brief assessment over him. His movement was undeniably predatorial. And he displayed little shame in the act. The blond tried to hide the shudder as it rippled through his flesh.

"I didn't expect that they'd leave a little something like you behind. And not even a scratch…" Jack's speech faded.

Ralph frowned, unsure of how to react to that. He took a more practical route. "How-"He swallowed, steadying his voice before glancing quickly at the large doors, still bolted. Jack's sharp eyes followed his line of sight. "How did you get in here, then?"

"Through the back," Jack said it like it was no big secret. "I come here almost every morning for practice. Those old doors are a bother."

Curiosity riddled rickety thoughts as Ralph stole a deeper glance at Jack. He seemed… different. The image of the wild, impulsive redhead that Ralph knew on the island felt vastly dissimilar from what stood before him now. But of course, he knew not to put faith in appearances. Even he was putting on a display for everyone, hiding the silhouette beneath, the savage whose nails would forever be stained with innocent blood. The alteration at that moment felt sickly strange to the fair-haired boy. He didn't feel like the same savage that he was meant to revile. _It must be some sort of trick_—Ralph quickly surmised. The fog of his troubling thoughts dissipated the moment he heard Jack speak.

"So… _did_ they do anything to you?" He said. The voice lowering with a dark fierceness that was of a comforting familiarity to Ralph. He extracted himself from the physical nearness of Jack. Instant satisfaction warmed him, seeing the dissatisfied hardness crawl into his rival's blue eyes.

"What do you care?" Ralph quietly snapped. Though it was hushed, it harbored enough sharpness to force a tense disruption within the air. The redhead blinked before taking his own leave from the blond, drawing closer to the wall with the large crucifix.

His silence quickly became unnerving. Ralph had expected him to say something back, anything that would undoubtedly start just another heated argument between them… but nothing came. Ralph waited, his fists compressed. Only the sound of the hair-raising howling of the wind occupied the emptiness between them as it caressed the chapel walls. He risked another glance at the redhead, only to see that Jack had completely turned away from him, fixated on the crucifix. In the light, it was an elegant rendition, though in the shadows, it took on the appearance of a grotesque, black growth on the immaculate wall.

"Look—can you just show me the way out?" Ralph inquired as mildly as his growing frustration would allow.

"It's been almost three years. Three fucking long years. Don't you think we have _a few_ things to talk about before we go on pretending that the other doesn't exist? Crazy idea, I know." Jack's voice crept forward. An enigmatic smirk flashed across his face upon turning around. Ralph's gaze connected with the former hunter, the ugly warmth of fury reignited. His jaw flexed, tightened with unbidden emotion, though spoke with a surprising amount of control.

"What is it you're trying to say, exactly?" The tone wasn't kind, it was accusatory.

Jack's head jerked to the side, his body turned a little, regarding the shadow of his adversary as he casually leaned against the table. Pale fingers tapped an aggravated rhythm upon the surface.

"Was I wrong in thinking that you were somewhat intelligent? All I said was that we should talk. That's all. Or is even that abstract too complicated for you?" Jack's familiar snark revealed that his patience with him was now tempting a slippery slope. Ralph felt strangely comforted by the falling of the guise, to hear a hint of the old Jack resurfacing. _This_ he could deal with… not the possibly somewhat civil imposter that had stood there for a brief moment.

"There's no reason for _you_ to get short." Ralph grunted.

"Then don't ask stupid questions."

"I think that I'm entitled to ask all the stupid questions I want with you."

Jack exhaled a quick, irked breath. "If you're going to act like such a child, then just forget the whole thing."

"Fine by me. Just don't think that I honestly give a shit enough to actually listen to anything you have to say… because you obviously don't give a shit for anything else that walks the earth, Merridew. Everything and everyone apart from you." Ralph spoke the last part so quietly; Jack barely caught the words, even with his keen hearing.

Jack clenched his fists so tightly at his sides; he felt his nails bite painfully into his palms. "That's not true. And don't think for a damn second that you know anything about me," his voice was heavy, now laced with dangerous warning. It sounded typical of him and it served to further ease Ralph's apprehension.

"Oh, don't I? I probably know you a hell of a lot better than anyone else out there who thinks they do." Ralph spat at him. He got up from leaning against the table, fully facing him, his eyes blazing. Challenging.

"Not really. Contrary to what you may think—" Jack paused; his tone was still harsh and held a sudden dark undertone, though what he was going to say felt so strange, so difficult, he almost stopped entirely. Yet, he knew that it was something that would eventually need to be said. Something that he had worked through his tangled mind over the years. A fragment that he had combed out of a particularly vicious knot—one that coagulated his thoughts every time he came across it. "—I actually do give a shit. Maybe not about much, but it's there all the same." There. Jack said them, but couldn't get back the horrible taste that they held. His body felt a simultaneous sense of respite and aversion.

Ralph paused, felt his breathing shortened.

"I find that hard to believe, Jack. Do you honestly think that I'm that stupid—to fall for that?" Ralph tried hard to not clench his teeth as he spoke, his eyes pricked annoyingly, though he remained angry, attempting to conceal the emotion that threatened to take hold of him. He had to hide the fissures within his sanity that revealed how wrecked he was—a near mental case. He had his own mask to wear since rescue—one that showed that he still belonged and fit into the civilized world.

"You tried to kill me. You remember that, right?" His voice turned cynical. "You tried to fucking _kill_ me."

Jack swallowed tightly, his eyes averted just for a moment. It wasn't enjoyable to watch Ralph like this, to see how fractured he had become, no matter how tightly he tried to shoulder the skin of rage. Despite deriving pleasure from invoking fear and sometimes even pain, he received little satisfaction from madness. It was a truly frightening leech. It reminded him too much of the former hunters that he had already lost. The ones that were taken away from their families—their minds badly eroded. And although it wasn't entirely the same, Jack could feel similar afflictions from the island. Ones that no one could see—no outward scars, but he still felt them all the same. He was bleeding behind his mask—bleeding behind his grin. And it wouldn't stop. He felt like a member of a hopelessly decaying clan.

And they were now the owners of awareness. Something that could never be wiped away. A disease that either continued to eat away at them or ultimately thickened their skin.

Every single one of them.

"Ralph…" Jack paused for a few more moments, watching Ralph's frame as the blond continued to seethe. "I wouldn't have gone through with it." Or at least that's what he thought, what he craved to be true, what he yearned. In the end, the harsh truth was that Jack wasn't even sure himself. He was too wrapped up in his own world back then, obsessed with his rising craving for power, flesh and blood. And in a way… he wasn't sure if that side of him would ever completely fade.

The other side of him—the one that dared to redeem the savage… the one that he now displayed was one that he tried hard to strengthen within the past year. As a means of concealment for the society that they had abruptly reentered. Of course, it would be untrue to say that he had changed. He hadn't—just developed.

"I really find that hard to believe," Ralph repeated his statement from before, a little milder, but still jaded. He exhaled briefly, suddenly aware of how tired he was getting. Tired of being up so late. Tired of arguing. And tired of Jack. He turned away from him and began to walk down the aisle, towards the chapel doors.

"Hey!" Jack took off after him; a gush of primitive rage scorched his gut.

'_How _dare_ he turn his back on me!'_ Jack silently fumed.

Ralph nearly sprinted when he heard the chorister coming at him from behind, though in his listless state, forgot that the doors were still barred. Cursing quietly, he turned around with his back now to the door, just in time to see Jack stop just before him. Jack's outstretched palms rested against the chapel doors on each side of Ralph's shoulders, trapping him. Worried, dull eyes connected with Jack's icy stare, immediately seeing that he was nearly a head taller, much to his disdain. The blond suddenly felt an outpouring of practiced fear, being confined with Jack so close, nearly breathing down his neck. Ralph's hands flattened against the church door by his sides, his sweaty palms slick against the wood. Remembered sensations from his nightly visitations flashed through his mind's eye. His pulse lurched.

"Dammit, Ralph!" Jack slammed against the door with one of his fists, causing a slight vibration in the wood that Ralph could feel from the back of his skull. "I'm not lying."

Ralph didn't know what to say. He was quite honestly, still nervous and didn't want to utter anything that might further set him off… not when the savage was this close to him.

Jack, feeling the fear practically radiating off the blond, felt an old flutter of primitive excitement heat his insides, one that he hadn't felt in years—one that made him feel alive.

He had forgotten how good this felt. Jack smirked before loosening one of his hands from the door, allowing a stray finger to brush the side of his long lost prey's face. The face that he tried so many times to forget after the island, the image that nearly drove him mad with hate, envy, and want— all wrapped up in such raw, perplexing confusion on the island.

The first time such intensity had flared, it had startled him. And he hated it. Hated the lure that Ralph had become—one that only grew more potent the longer he resisted, the longer he eluded capture. Amidst everything, he knew that he would never feel completely satisfied until he had fulfilled his hunter's craving—for his very skin, for the blood that pulsated beneath, for his maddeningly blond hair, and for his forbidden warmth. Only years later, as the memory of his prey's face remained, pulling and toying with his mind, did he realize that he wanted him in the exact way that would indisputably appall the church _and_ his parents. The thought filled him with a sick satisfaction that both warmed and hardened him.

He never planned for this to happen. It just did. Nothing in this world ever seemed to go according to plan. He remembered how he tried so hard to impress the fair-haired chief during their brief attempt at a normal friendship—with his strength and his skill as a hunter and yet for all his efforts, Ralph barely even acknowledged him. He never praised him. It birthed only scathing jealousy for that blasted Piggy, because he was always got to be so near him, his intelligence and reliability impressed Ralph in a way where Jack fell short.

He thought of all this as he observed Ralph's petrified face. One that he thought he might never see again after the island. His pretty face—the perfect mask for society. A mask that Jack had never been able to truly craft for himself. It was only another reason to scorn him. Jack's hand came up to his prey's cheek again, though there was more pressure than before, as if he were now more substantial than thin glass. A face of flesh and blood, not the fragments of a specter.

Ralph's eyes widened, heavily befuddled as to what Jack's intentions were. "_What's he waiting for? Perhaps he's _been_ mad this whole time and I've just been talking to a lunatic."_ His drowsy mind barely registered what was going on. Slow to react.

Jack's hands went just a bit higher until his fingertips made contact with the base of his hair, taking odd note within the back of his head that it was as soft as it looked. Ralph's breath came just a bit easier and he did a stupid thing. Something that should never be done in front of a practiced hunter—even if formerly.

He allowed his guard to temper, involuntarily lulled at Jack's slowness and the apparent placidness of his actions. Even when Jack's face came closer to his, so close that their noses touched, Ralph didn't respond like he normally would have, as if entranced, though still vastly confused. Jack, with his slanted mouth, pressed his lips against Ralph's.

Ralph froze, shock inducing his system as he felt the redhead kiss him. He was actually kissing him! Jack attempted to deepen the contact, though it was difficult with a mouth as compliant as cold stone. A warm, wet tongue drew across Ralph's closed mouth, instantly savoring the flavor of forbidden skin. Jack's heart was beating hard… and he wanted more… his hands moved from the door and Ralph's cheek, and imbedded roughly within his messy, blond tresses. His mouth now moved powerfully, dominantly as his fingers wove through silk-like hair. The combined stimulus was intoxicating.

If he wasn't already marked for Hell, Jack was sure that this alone would certainly forever seal away his dark soul—kissing another boy—especially in a place deemed sacred by society. The morbidly comical thought nearly made him laugh. Second time laughing tonight. This was a record. He couldn't see how he could bend humanity's pointless rules more than he was now, though he was sure that he'd find a way.

_Oh God_, _how he wanted him_… Lust pulsed through his veins as he moved closer to his captive's body, relishing the heat radiating from him.

Ralph, on the receiving end, was growing increasingly panicked and mortified the more he began to comprehend the situation. He waited, still as death, until Jack pulled back his mouth, slowly ending the kiss, releasing for want of air. And it was at that exact moment that Ralph's creeping hands, slowly getting closer to Jack's chest, pushed as hard as he could, effectively removing him from the uninvited proximity. And when he was far away enough, Ralph did the only rational thing that any boy caught off guard would have done in his place; he swung his fist and felt it meet an unguarded jaw.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Ralph shouted, hoping to shake him out of whatever dark thing currently possessed him. "You can't do that! Y-you just can't…" His voice tapered, the burning shame draining away his conviction.

Jack stumbled back, cursing, his body still tingling pleasantly, his mouth alive with the taste of his sweet prey. His hand sheepishly touched the injured side of his face, instantly buzzing with pain. He felt a bit of his old self creep back into his stubborn want. When he wanted—no, _needed_ something, he was never content to just _let_ it go free. He smiled at Ralph. Dark blood trickled from the corner of his smug mouth.

Ralph saw it. He perceived the familiar impish glint within his eyes… and he knew that it was reserved entirely for him. Ralph felt the deep-rooted panic run ramped within his chest at being the hunted once again, the very fuel of his nightmares.

"Get away from me," Ralph's voice audibly trembled with familiar fear and enmity as he dashed to the side, racing down the side of the pews, towards the front of the church. He heard Jack behind him, hot on his heels. Jack grinned as he immediately took off after him, savoring the delicious onslaught of the hunter's high that had lain dormant for so long.

How did he get on with life without it? And the fact that Ralph was his target only added to the succulence of the moment.

Ralph slowed, his eyes feverishly seeking the door that Jack emerged from awhile ago. Within mili-seconds, Ralph spotted its elusive outline and stumbled towards it, as he felt Jack's fingertips graze the back of his t-shirt, nearly snatching him.

As Ralph collided against the wall alongside the door, he scrambled through the doorframe just as he felt Jack's powerful hand ensnare his wrist. Ralph cried something meaningless out of sheer horror as he pulled at his trapped limb. He heard Jack snicker on the other side of the door triumphantly, which only fueled Ralph's hatred, and with a violent jolt, released his wrist, now prickling with a bloodless absence of feeling. He darted into the unfamiliar room. Panic clawed at his gut with the fact that he was unsure of where he was and that Jack probably knew this place better than the back of his hand.

"Oh, shit. Shit. Shit." Ralph spewed his rattled fury as he raced to the far side of the room, knocking and nearly stumbling over a music stand, sending sheet music flying everywhere. His shin struck painfully hard against the choir stands that were virtually invisible in the dark room. He lurched forward, barely catching himself and twisting his body so that the stand's jabbed tenderly into his back and thighs instead of the front of his substantially more fragile ribcage.

Jack was on top of him within the second, straddling him, pinning his wrists painfully hard over his head. The hunter chuckled, a little breathless as he brought his mouth closer to Ralph's, claiming his victory and prize in their struggle. A sardonic smile tightened his jaw.

"Such nasty words from an innocent mouth," Jack commented, mockingly lazy as he brushed his mouth against the blond's before lifting his face slightly. He fancied the thought that Ralph might have never even had his first kiss yet.

Ralph stilled suddenly, cold awareness of his helplessness in this situation trickled down his shivering spine. In a dark unknown room, pinned by his enemy, and completely worn out from lack of sleep and the dealings of mental plague. He still panted for air from his flustered attempt at escape and the slightly opened mouth provided the perfect opportunity for the aggressor. Jack quickly connecting his mouth to Ralph's, prying his soft lips even further before plunging in his tongue, a pool of undiscovered liquid warmth, causing his entire body to throb with thick desire. Ralph could taste remnants of Jack's blood. Wetness slid and teeth clicked as a grunt of unadulterated need was poured into the blond's mouth. Ralph cringed, finally able to strain his head to the far side, forcing Jack's tongue to trail from his mouth onto the expanse of his smooth cheek. The open mouthed kisses only continued, thorough and wet down the length of his jaw and across his chin before biting hard on the sinuous lower lip. Pulling gently before releasing. Ralph hissed, pain erupting beneath Jack's incisors.

"Please—"Ralph pleaded, hating the very idea of resorting to this. The utter loss of power in this situation felt absolutely terrifying and it tore at his sanity, breaking his already fragile hold over it.

"Please—stop." He repeated with a bit more strength. He couldn't stop the warm treks of wetness as they traveled down the corners of his eyes, gravity pulling them past his ears as he remained laying down. He already felt humiliated, so letting Jack see him like this wasn't going to make him feel any worse than what was possible.

Jack seemed to pay him no heed, completely unaware as his mouth trailed to the enticing warmth of the blond's vulnerable neck. Having the savage's teeth so close to his vital pulse struck a frightening chord within Ralph—visions of his nightmare slaughtering his sane hold over himself. Ralph squeezed his eyes shut as his heart thudded. A heavy, fearful rhythm beneath Jack's lips.

"Jack!" Ralph shouted. His eyelids opened. Jack jerked his head up, woken from his previous, drunken endeavor. His cloudy, desire-ridden eyes cleared slightly at the sight of Ralph's less than favorable reaction. "Please, let me go."

Jack felt strange, observing the seeming torment that he had caused. He was doing it again—acting too quickly, too tactlessly. He paused, still unsure with what to do. His need was still there, excited, throbbing, and so present that it was painful and yet the side that still held the warped conscience reproved him. Ralph noticed the clash in his face and dared to connect with the conflicted stare. Steely blue met sullied crystal.

"If you really give a shit…" Ralph felt instant, cold revulsion shiver throughout his frame, repeating Jack's previous sentiment, but meekly played along for now if would ensure freedom. "… then, you wouldn't do this. Please—just let go."

The hunter's attention piqued at the words and despite his intensions, listened. It was rational; though Jack's thoughts were riddled with confusion as he unenthusiastically released Ralph's wrists, feeling an unpracticed bout of disgust.

Since when did he ever start feeling guilty? Jack fumed. All this he hid, turning his face away. When he looked back, he felt a nauseating churn within his stomach. Ralph had turned on his side, furthest from him, trembling in the slightest and breathing slowly, easing away the aftershock.

"Are you ok?" Jack asked, oddly startled. "Do you need help?"

Ralph inclined away from the suggestion. His mind answered, snide and useless, "_Yeah, arsehole. Why wouldn't I be ok? I was only just attacked and molested_." Instead, he just muttered the first halfway decent reply that came to mind. "Don't be stupid. Just… show me how to get out of here." He avoided Jack's searching gaze. Driven by impatience, Jack reached out, nonetheless. Startled by his movement, Ralph gasped, violently recoiling as if the hand were glazed with poison.

"No! Don't touch me." His heart hammered painfully in his chest at the thought of being trapped again.

The blond's repugnant retreat from him hurt more than he thought it would. Before he could ponder further over it or before taking it out on something that he might later regret, he rammed his fist into the wall. Another music stand was bashed over. Teeth grit with painful tightness as he took it out on the rest of the room, smashing, striking, and damaging. Something shattered. And for a moment, he was eight years old again, rummaging through and destroying his father's study. All beneath the nose of the imposing blue-blood. Standing. Staring. Unfeeling. The biting pain stung as damaged skin began to appear over his knuckles and the sides of his forearms. It slowly instigated a soothing numbness over the fire. He ceased, his muscles thrumming with the high, temporarily spent.

Ralph sat himself up, his dry, wide-eyed in careful observation of the rampant other. He had never seen him show this much loss of control. The only event he could compare this to was when Jack had left him on the island—when he said that he wouldn't play with him anymore—wanted to form his own tribe. He was probably the only one to notice the slight wetness in the corners of Jack's eyes as he walked away that day so long ago. Ralph stood on slightly shaking legs as he slowly backed from the redhead, carefully feeling behind him until his back hit the windowed wall. Dark eyes surveyed the various undistinguishable shapes of the room until he thought he found a door. He palmed the brass doorknob, trying to open it, despite his slippery hands. It was then that Jack came back to his senses, noticing Ralph trying to get out on his own.

"You won't have much luck going through there. That's the closet." Jack's deadpan voice rang out, remarkably calm and steady after his outburst. He drew nearer and soon walked past Ralph, ignoring the way that the blond flattened himself against the wall to avoid touching him.

Jack's peeved frown only tightened as he walked on, leading through the hallway. Ralph tentatively followed, distancing himself somewhat, thankful that there was only silence between them as Jack led him through another room. The final door was opened, the door to the outside. Jack stood to the side, holding the door for him. Ralph's nerves reawaken slightly beneath clammy skin, though Jack was still as death as he waited. Eyes were downcast. A cool, fresh breeze brushed Ralph's face, soothing the physical tension as he stepped outside, straight onto the lawn. He heard Jack follow soon after securing the door.

"You can find your own way back, I trust," Jack muttered. His insides felt drained, almost beaten as he avoided looking at Ralph. Instead, he observed a nearby cluster of trees, and how their leaves playfully shuddered in the wind. Ralph looked quietly over at Jack—at his lost expression. They were motionless in the forlorn minute, listening to the requiem of the autumn leaves. The bright blue gaze was momentarily uncloaked, revealing a chaotic fusion of apprehension and bewilderment. The exposure of such visual honesty made, even Ralph, feel uncomfortable, as if he were viewing something supremely private. His observation shifted towards the ground.

"Jack—"Ralph began to speak, though he suddenly didn't know how to end it.

Despite Jack's resolve to ignore him, his unbidden eyes were instantly pulled to the blond when he heard him say his name. It sounded so strange when it was unbound by hate; it forced a small flutter of life to his limbs as he shifted. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of this ethereal version of Ralph, visible only by the moon's mild cast. Pale light gleamed on skin; his fair hair seemed to soften beneath the moon's gentle caress as his head tilted slightly, now openly staring back at him.

It was salt in the open wound and it suddenly made him angry—angry to see him like this—and to know that he would never submit to him. Ralph would always fight him, struggle against him, and look at him with such vile regard.

_Was he doing this on purpose? Was this his twisted attempt at revenge?_ Jack scoffed away the rejection as he tried to tear his gaze away, but couldn't. His attention was grudgingly snared. He thought he would never see him again and yet here he stood, appearing in his life as suddenly as he had left it. Perhaps God saw it fit to torment him for his bloodied, soiled deeds, in the form of an avenging angel. An angel that despised him. An angel that he wanted for himself.

"Don't you _dare_ look at me like that!" Jack hurled an ugly snarl at Ralph. His eyes of ice were now filled with a spontaneous and terrible wrath, almost wishing for a fleeting moment that he did have another spear to throw at him. "Just go!"

Ralph's eyes only revealed more stinging empathy as it filtered through his agitated skin, so he quickly turned away, obscuring his face from him as he began to make his way back towards the boys' dormitory.

_Why do I feel sorry for him? He _should_ feel bad! He bloody well deserves whatever's bothering him_.

And yet Ralph felt no justice. It didn't make him feel any better to leave Jack like that. He was still broken. Still a tainted human being from the moment that he had first stepped off that island. Nothing could change that fact. And for the first time, Ralph realized that they had all been stained… even Jack.

He walked wearily the rest of the way, nearly stumbling until he reached his room, his eyes refusing to stay entirely dry the whole while, even as he collapsed gratefully onto his welcoming bed. His remorse followed him into his dreams. Although the bloodied violence was unexpectedly absent, his unconscious mind continued to mourn, refusing to let the conscious part of him forget its torment—its harrowing misery.

.

.

.

* * *


	4. A Predator's Payback

"_There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."_

_-Ernest Hemingway_

* * *

_._

_._

_._

Their parting on the lawn outside the chapel had not gone unseen, although the spectator wasn't close enough to catch the words that had been exchanged. The dark hair was now out of his eyes, cut at a length that would accommodate the school dress code. Still, it grew unnaturally fast and the dark boy noted with mild contempt that he would need to get it cut again.

_Such a stupid inconvenience_…

Roger still wore his school clothes, despite the late hour. He didn't require much sleep, not since the island where he learned to get by on so little of it. He sauntered closer, moving effortlessly with a hunter's stealth, making as little noise as possible. Little ever did escape his notice, though he only feigned ignorance of the excessive details that triggered his senses.

The air was crisp and cool, the secreted smell of frost now a dead giveaway that winter was quickly approaching. The dry grass crumpled like paper beneath his shoes. The autumn colored leaves flapped, flustered and unusually loud in the gentle breeze—their crumbling corpses now stiff and fragile as a long dead tabby's ribcage. He knew because he once had a tabby.

Dark, vigilant eyes shot towards the fair boy as he made his way back to the dormitory. Roger felt the familiar, seductive flow of intense fanaticism, blackening his insides at the sight of the breathing, living Ralph. His very existence irked his cold skin, caused his fingers to itch, yearning to feel slippery, warm blood once more.

_He shouldn't be alive. His body should have long been decomposed, his sorry pile of bones being the only reminder that he ever existed on that island. And his blood… his blood…_ Roger thought all this beneath a face void of reaction. The only exception was the slight, increased oncoming of eager breath, a rush within his pulse. Just the thought of Ralph's heart continuing its relentless throb taunted him. It pulled at his sensetive nerves.

The blond's tread was unsteady, Roger's eyes calculated. Vulnerable. He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles at seeing him nearly stumble with exhaustion into the building's heavy doors before finally opening them, vanishing completely from his hunter's line of sight.

_Someday_. He soothed his heightened, provoked body before turning his once again impassive stare back towards Jack. The redhead continued to stand, frozen on the spot. Roger silently grumbled for not being close enough at the time to have eavesdropped on their conversation.

_What exactly had gone on here…?_

The last couple of years had been rather good to the hunters. Well… those that remained. All of the choristers were sent back to this school—their original one from before the island. Later, a number of them had either been pulled out by their parents before transferring elsewhere or were checked into the nearest mental institution. That was over the course of the two, almost three years that followed. Their numbers were fading fast. Now there was only him, Jack, Maurice, Bill... and Robert.

Roger's face tightened with revulsion upon thinking of Robert. He had been nothing but a useless, sniveling idiot since coming back. He became religious, always clutching a bible amidst his school books, mumbling prayers whenever he could, and staying within the chapel during his free time. He constantly sobbed about clemency and how nobody from Heaven likely opened their ears for him.

'The inquiries of a black sinner,' as the chorister put it. Roger always looked at Robert as if he were prattling in some unknown language whenever he said things like that. If he could place a wager on who would lose their head next, he would say Robert's name without a moment's hesitation.

On the contrary, Maurice and Bill became pleasant enough surprises. They ran in the opposite direction that Robert had chosen. They wallowed luxuriously in their knowledge. In their capabilities. The three of them were quick to resume their former habit of picking on the little kids from the neighboring academy: the precursor to this school. They enjoyed tormenting the older kids here as well and were close confidants for Roger whenever he needed their aid in focusing on new victims. Of course, he never did enough to be expelled nor was he stupid enough to get caught.

They weren't friends. Solitude was their companion whenever there was a lack of someone interesting to torment. To latch their wicked delight onto. They were simply united in their common desire to hurt, to drag out those sounds of torment from unwilling mouths. They were the bullies of the school—and Jack had been their leader. For a time, anyway. It was only until recently that he had been more to himself than anything.

_Jack_… Roger frowned as he halted in his advance. He observed the tall, redhead like a shameless voyeur as he continued to stand by the chapel, facing the direction that Ralph had left. Roger always felt a connection with the head chorister. He was an exceptional hunter on the island, something that Roger had assessed for himself with shrewd appraisal. He watched every movement, judged his reaction time, his aim, his ferocity. And while he wasn't perfect, as Roger thought that he could've been more brutal, a little more intelligent, and could've done without the fact that he was so ruled by his explosive emotions; he found that the redhead's skill as a hunter could at times surpass his flaws. The dark boy was somewhat pleased that he had found someone like himself. Someone that reviled constraints, who harbored such similar cravings for control. United in their lust for blood.

Roger had been vigilant in keeping himself aligned with Jack, while remaining within general obscurity. The other hunters did likewise. While Jack resumed his position as the head chorister once they'd gotten back, he did not apply himself more than what was absolutely necessary of him within school. Roger still wasn't sure of how to take this slight change within their former leader. Aside from the savagery and cool collectiveness that still lingered, Jack's eyes tended to look more lost within the past few months, giving the impression that he might not take as long to crack as Roger had anticipated. Like the others.

Despite all this, Roger still trailed him, some of the time with Jack being oblivious, still feeling the ties of dark fixation and loyalty that he still possessed for his chief.

He approached Jack from behind with practiced furtiveness, pleased that he could still sneak up on him unawares. The curiosity of Jack's hidden expression got the better of him and Roger straightened his own features before calling out, "Chief."

It hadn't felt right to call him anything else, so he continued to use that title with him in private. Roger hid the growing amusement boiling within his chest as he watched him.

Jack's frame jumped, he half turned, his accusing blue eyes searching.

Roger smiled, satisfied.

When Jack's gaze found his, Roger delight faded behind a stoic guise. "Fancy seeing you here," He spoke in a clear, relaxed voice.

Jack paused; his eyes looking slightly conflicted before thinking up a response. He settled into a stance of mild exasperation. "How long have you been standing there?"

Roger shrugged and managed to look bored, despite the fact that he felt like laughing at Jack's obvious discomfort. "Not long…" He paused, pretending to think about his response a little longer before speaking again, his face the epitome of guiltless virtue. "Well… I guess long enough to see you talking to Medevane." He reverted to Ralph's second name.

Jack was alarmed, plain as day. He tended to wear his passion on his sleeve, Roger had noticed long ago. Almost as if they were too potent, too overwhelming to be stifled. Jack also seemed a bit restless upon seeing the dark boy's expression. A seemingly innocent look on Roger was a disturbing sight to the redhead. "What did you hear?" Jack's eyes narrowed in the slightest.

"Nothing," Roger said. He watched the alarm slowly leak from Jack's face in that instant and was even more madly curious of the unheard exchange. Jack was his calm self again as he glanced towards the boys' dormitory.

"What are you going to do to him?" Roger asked, trying to keep his excited imagination at bay.

"I don't know," Jack answered without pause. He sounded wary. "Does something _need_ to be done?" He had meant to sound cynical, but his voice only managed to resemble the dead, empty air that surrounded them.

Roger sighed, faintly irritated. _What the fuck was wrong with his chief? He was sure that the Jack from a few months ago would have jumped at the prospect_. He suddenly began to wonder _where_ exactly Jack had gone that summer... His shadowed eyes hardened in enigmatic thought.

"Of course something should be done." Roger snapped softly. Jack now began to look at him carefully, considering. Roger lost a little of his own coolness as hot ardor for the subject took control, his mask slipping slightly. "He's prey. And he will always be _yours_… nothing will change that fact." The dark boy's breathing quickened.

He held a principle that civilization would call abnormal—one of a hunter's dark ownership over his designated prey. It was a blood claim. A right. He parted his lips in a savage grin when he noticed that Jack appeared to be deliberating. He hadn't shrugged off his implications like he suspected he might… but genuinely seemed to absorb them.

On Jack's end, he couldn't help but to fall for, to immerse himself within the seduction of Roger's words, for his assumption of what Ralph was to him. Prey. His icy veins thawed. No matter what forces tried to take him away or say otherwise. Jack's gut thrilled at the thought. Growing up and since being back, Jack had never wanted for anything. His family was of the wealthiest. They were of old money on top of his father being in a partnership of a prominent business. Being the only child, he got everything he ever wanted and some. The idea of retaining something so scandalous, so magnificent stole his slightly rattled breathe for a moment. Jack caught himself before falling even deeper within the pit of thought. His eyes lost their gleam as he eyed Roger, the wariness rapidly trickling back, his arms casually folded.

"What are you doing out here, Irvine?" He resumed the question that had been sweltering within his mind since he saw him, reverting to Roger's surname in the process as he had done to Ralph.

Roger was unaffected. "I just happened to see you out here. Pure accident. I'm looking for Maurice and Bill. They were supposed to meet me here about now." He checked his watch. It was three in the morning. They were late. He growled softly. "I don't know what's keeping them."

Jack frowned. The three of them together usually meant that something bad was about to happen. "What are you up to...?"

"Hmm," Roger scanned the area for any movement, becoming increasingly bothered that the others weren't there. _He_ was always on time. He was actually rather meticulous about such things. "_The others can be such incompetent morons at times_…" the dark boy mentally smoldered.

Jack only noticed his companion's growing irritation through the way that his hand tightened and relaxed before snaring itself deep within his pocket. He looked back at Jack, a startlingly delighted smile displayed, a flash of white teeth in the dark. "Why do you ask? Would you like to join us? It's been… long enough."

Jack stiffened. It had been three months, to be exact, since he had last been with them on their torment escapades.

A tight frown began to form upon Roger at the stifling silence that followed. He changed tactics. "Have you tried out your new ride yet?" He knew from Jack that his father had given him a motorcycle for his recently passed seventeenth birthday. It was beautiful—a classic. Jack's teeth grit painfully as he shook his head ever so slightly. His expression darkened. It wasn't a gift, but a peace offering. It had remained untouched from where it had first been coldly presented to him amidst the sea of his father's prized vehicles—a little hobby that the senior Merridew enjoyed. It had already been a week and there it continued to wait, stagnant and unloved.

"Hmph," Roger folded his arms across his chest, his cold eyes never leaving Jack. "Planning anymore events?" He asked next, nonchalantly. Seemingly stupid questions, but Roger watched his chief's every reaction with the calculating, calm stare. Jack had the best venue for it and it was something that the former hunters had started up about a year ago on the last weekend of each month, inviting nearly half the school. They usually had it at Jack's place, seeing as his parents were frequently gone and he always had a way of smuggling in a copious supply of alcohol.

Jack shrugged unenthusiastically, eyes staring at nothing. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the way the last one had ended.

As if reading his thoughts, Roger smirked. "Or are you still sore about Miss Cleeves?"

"Will you _shut up_ about that already?" Jack promptly fumed, feeling the hatred that he felt for the girl putrefying the lining of his stomach. A moment of quietness fell upon them as Jack sorted his thoughts, allowing his anger to cool slightly before continuing. "I was plastered… I had no idea it was _her_ until morning." _And what a blooming headache that was_… Jack thought bitterly.

Roger chortled quietly, genuinely amused. "So you'll take anything to your bed as long as it isn't her?"

"No," Jack countered, his even voice rivaled his deadpan expression. "I'll take anything that isn't so fucking annoying."

Roger's sounds of amusement began to fade and his unsmiling face took precedence. "Well you should think of something soon. Your events are always so… entertaining_." _

_Meaning, that something out of the ordinary always takes place_, Jack thought. A sardonic frown gilded the sharp contours of the redhead's face. The more he thought about it, the more he began to think that it wasn't such a bad idea. Something to break the monotony of the days. Something to distract him from the _thing_ held currently his thoughts captive and now wrung his insides.

That's what he needed… a distraction. A glittering fragmented distraction… even if somewhat brief. Jack sighed, irritably rubbing the back of his neck.

The stillness that followed was pierced by a loud, terrified shriek accompanied by a chorus of maniacal laughter. Jack and Roger jumped at the audible intrusion, though quickly recovered. They surveyed the area, but couldn't see anything in the thick shadows as a cloud passed over the moon. Jack could only hear his own harsh breathing in their momentarily darkened world.

Out of the blue, the two heard a brief, albeit incoherent argument explode within the air followed by a young voice being muffled. Jack and Roger shuffled towards the noises and when the small cloud passed over, were greeted by the sight of Bill and Maurice struggling with a scrawny boy between the two of them. They each had a hold of his thin, pale arms and were trudging, half dragging their victim along. The boy's tear-streaked face had been silenced with a stained sock barely protruding from his mouth. He was a lot smaller than his captors, causing Jack to conclude that this was his first year here. Probably around eleven years old, though he still looked small, almost too frail to be even that many years.

The boy looked up at Jack and Roger; fresh invocation of fear illuminated his eyes when he realized that they made no movement to liberate him. He could only guess that they were also part of the bullies that had jumped him on his way back from the toilet to his room. Jack's own stare widened slightly when the image of the boy's face immediately invoked the memory of another boy years ago, deep within the wild tresses of the island. The boy's finely textured black hair was severely mused. His clear, pale skin shone with the sweat of struggle and his unsettling pale, bright eyes looked up at him. For a moment, Jack swore that the boy's gaze morphed from an expression of utter fear to that of haunting accusation.

Jack's lips parted, his jaw slackened slightly as his throat felt constricted with a sudden wad of gruesome sickness. Thought was momentarily lost and he felt something burning within his gut. It wasn't rage, exactly, but it felt awfully close to it.

"Stop!" Jack was shocked by the volume of his voice even more than the fact that he had said anything at all. Maurice and Bill looked dumbly at him, completely taken off guard.

"Who is that?" Jack seethed through his teeth. His fists clenched and unclenched, his whole body was now molten with how sick he suddenly felt, fervently wishing that he had something to drain the strange new emotion that now seeped dangerously through his body.

No one answered. Maurice and Bill's faces became white as sun-bleached bone.

"Who is he?" Jack suddenly turned on Roger, instantly grabbing fistfuls of his collared shirt, resisting the overwhelming urge to shake him. Roger's hands immediately went up to where Jack's held him, tightening over the redhead's fingers.

"I don't see what the—"Roger said, his voice and expression reflecting only composed inquisitiveness. It was an irritating contrast to the other's flaring reaction and Jack felt the frustration rise within him upon this answer.

"You tell me who that is. Tell me now!" Jack ordered him, a mild comeback of the old authority that he had once basked in. The thought hadn't even occurred to him to ask the boy directly.

"It's just Eckland… Peter Eckland." Roger spoke between short breaths, now starting to feel the uncomfortable tension at which Jack held him. _Even the name_... Jack felt a rush of blood upon hearing it. Roger chuckled suddenly, seeing the realization dawn upon his chief's face. "Who knew he had a little brother?" Roger continued with his speech, speaking as if they had just received an unexpected gift. "Just our luck."

Jack ignored him, glancing over at the pale face of Peter as he continued to stare at them. The tears on his face had dried, though his disconcerting silvery eyes continued to observe them with swelling apprehension. He was the spitting image of Simon. Even more so now that Peter was around the same age that his older brother was when he'd died. Jack couldn't help the noise of aversion that escaped his lungs as he chucked Roger to the ground. His shirt remained wrinkled where it had been fisted. Roger gaped at Jack, bloodcurdling resentment coursed through his veins at being pushed aside, though it was quickly stifled deep within. Roger's cheeks flushed brightly. He was back on his feet by the time Jack drew closer to the others, ignoring the smudges of dirt over his trousers and shirt.

"Release him," Jack said. His voice had steadied somewhat after turning from Roger. Maurice and Bill didn't hesitate. Their grip on Peter had already been waning while watching the explosive exchange. They backed away from Peter as if he were about to mutate into something hideous. Peter immediately tore the sock from his mouth and pitched it somewhere amidst the shadows. He coughed, fighting the urge to vomit all over the grass after having the taste of the filthy sock in his mouth for so long. He wanted to spit, but his mouth was parched. He brought his hesitant gaze back up to the redhead.

Jack almost felt like he was going to retch himself when he saw the appreciative look that Peter gave him_. _

_He didn't want this. He hadn't really meant to spare him from his tormentors… He just couldn't…_

Jack turned from his thoughts, feeling progressively more ridiculous as he continued to just stand there. He looked at the boy, growing pale with loathing towards the look of gratitude that had crossed the boy's face.

"Don't," Jack spat under his breath. He gave the boy the hardest look that he could manage. It worked, giving him the desired effect. The boy's face looked a bit more uneasy in that moment than thankful. "I am not doing that again." The boy paused before giving him the slightest of nods while staring at the ground. He got the gist. Don't get caught_._

"What are you still doing here? Go!" Jack voiced sharply, waving his hand somewhat, as if in irritated dismissal. The boy's eyes grew before he scampered off. His legs gained speed as he drew closer to the dormitories.

Jack was annoyed to find that the remaining choristers were staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Only Roger seemed exempt from the strange fascination. Instead, Roger still wore the cold vehemence over his face, eyeing Jack with a newfound disapproval.

"What the hell was that?" The dark boy said quietly, his voice low.

Jack turned on him. "How can you even stand to look at him?"

A tight frown formed over Roger's thin mouth. Bill and Maurice observed the ground; a touch of understanding moved their minds as they briefly regarded their chief.

"Find another victim," Jack said, massaging his temple. He was beginning to feel the slowness of fatigue catching up with him. Sleep never came easy, but whenever the fatigue caught up with him, it was impossible to ignore.

The two hunters aside from Roger nodded their heads fervently. Roger glared at them, stopping their movement.

"Will do," Roger said. His lips twitched.

"I'm going to bed," Jack mumbled as he left their group. The others continued to stare at him, a mixture of confusion and wonder. Roger's hunter's gaze only noticed Jack's growing fatigue and how it slowed his movements. He was momentarily weak and it made Roger's hands contract within his pockets. His pulse rose slightly, but quickly turned his gaze from his chief, removing him from his treacherous sight.

"Well, what _now_?" Maurice broke the silence. He was unsatisfied with the turn of events. His fingers continued to yearn for someone to torment as much as Bill and Roger in that moment. The frustration over the fact that their fun had ended so quickly left a sour taste in their mouths. Roger turned to them, an intensity now lit within his eyes that caused the skin on Bill's and Maurice's arms to raise slightly. He was going to stick with the chief's orders alright.

"Forget Eckland. We have bigger fish to catch."

...

Physical period was one of Ralph's favorite classes, even if he did share it with Jack and Roger. Of all the former hunters, he just _had_ to be stuck with the both of them in one of his classes. He did his best to ignore them, and so far they seemed to be doing the same to him.

It was all that he wanted, really. To be left alone.

Aside from free time, it was the highlight of his school day. To him, nothing beat having a good sweat and feeling the satisfying exhaustion that came from running the fields or being involved with whatever sport they were assigned. Unlike the majority of the class, he actually applied himself, causing Coach Foster to take more notice of him. It hadn't been Ralph's goal to suck up to any of the teachers, sports was simply his thing. It always had been, even before the island. It was a reminder of his life before. And it was a great help in keeping his cluttered mind stable and occupied.

Ralph was somewhat thrilled when he heard that their new unit was going to be on swimming and diving, a refreshing change from breaking a sweat on the outdoor fields where the sun poured its passion over the back of their necks. It was his preferred form of physical activity and the one that he excelled at the most. He had been told that he had a swimmer's build, which may have contributed more or less to his skill. It worked with nearly all the muscles without being harsh on the joints.

At the moment, Ralph sat in the boys' locker room, unlacing his trainers, currently the only tranquil human being within the zoo-like vicinity. The area was bustling with loud activity. There were naked and half naked boys running all over, trying to find their lockers and quickly changing into their school swim trunks and grabbing their protective eyewear.

The blonde ignored the other boys as they played juvenile pranks on each other, stealing each other's locker possessions and instigating a chase as they simultaneously attempted to dress themselves. Ralph opened his locker after the second try when a younger boy had collided right into him before he finished the combination, forcing him to start over. He grunted agitatedly as he began to strip, stuffing his school uniform haphazardly into the small locker. Blind habit forced his fingers to lightly trace the smoothness of his diagonal scar.

After briefly looking about and observing that everyone appeared to be preoccupied with their own locker or activity, he hurriedly pulled down his shorts and just as quickly replaced them with his trunks. He had always been so painfully modest. Even on the island, when most of the boys preferred running about stark-naked, he still managed to retain the necessities of his clothes, no matter how ragged they got. It was the civil thing to do.

He shut his locker, twisting the combination to ensure that it was sufficiently sealed before following the crowd through the door out into the indoor swimming pool area. His eyes searched and found Jack further along the stretch of walkway. Roger was nearby as well. It was routine for every single class. Ralph wandered further away from the two of them down the crowd. He was nearly at the opposite end when Coach Foster emerged with his clipboard. He surveyed his students, making sure that everyone was properly suited. Most of their eyewear was hanging about their necks, while some were tight over their foreheads. He took brief attendance before starting the lesson. Coach wore his usual attire of a simple windbreaker and sweats with the school logo.

Foster started and broke from his mini-lecture on how their school ranked above average amongst the other schools when it came to their swimming and diving team. Most of the boys' eyes wandered, obviously bored while he talked. Abruptly, he asked for a raise of hands of those that either were on the team or had been on any sort of swimming and diving team in the past. Ralph timidly raised his hand, flashes of the school that he had gone to before the island skipped through his mind. There was only one other unfamiliar boy that had raised his hand amongst the entire group. Coach Foster immediately smiled in Ralph's direction, much to the blonde's chagrin. "Medevane," he summoned with a quick gesture of his hand.

Ralph stepped forward, his cheeks enflamed, trying to ignore the faint snickers of the boys behind him.

"Why don't you show us a little demonstration. How about a simple breaststroke?" he said. It wasn't a request, though he attempted to make it sound like one. Ralph turned away from the coach and students to hide his dark face as he made his way towards the pool.

_God, was he trying to humiliate him?_ Ralph pondered with fevered awkwardness as he faced the pool, his toes touching the tiled edge. Teachers had the annoying tendency to volunteer up their students, oblivious to the fact that they were inflicting trauma on them. That, or they were aware and just secretly enjoyed the torment, watching them squirm. He felt every pair of eyes on him as he adjusted the annoying eyewear over his face, briefly tightening the sides before taking a diver's stance.

It had been years since he had done this, but it was like riding a bike, once you learn, it was something that could never be forgotten. Ralph's mind emptied, effectively blocking everyone and everything out as he allowed previous experience to guide his body. As soon as he dove, slipping beneath the water, breaking its tension, he was off. All he knew was the rhythm of his body as he fought to slice through the water, against the surge of the ripples as it tussled against him. All he felt was his body pumping excitedly, so full of adrenaline, an almost immediate high.

It felt good.

When he saw that he was close to the other end of the pool, he did a mild flip turn. Without thought, he pushed now in the opposite direction when his feet came into light contact with the wall, twisting, so that he continued to face the bottom of the pool. He continued when the water began to slow his momentum. When his fingers brushed against the wall that he had started against, he allowed his body to relax, slowly aligning itself parallel to the pool's edge. Ralph removed the eyewear, briefly wiping his eyes.

"Thank you, Ralph." Coach Foster beamed. The students were less enthused and grumbled. Roger picked at his nails, looking as bored as ever. Jack stared. Ralph only caught a fleeting glimpse of them from the pool, but could feel the intense heat of Jack's scrutiny. He avoided meeting anyone else's gaze as he started to pull himself from the water; reluctance to leave the pool slowing his limbs. His arms flexed as he heaved his body, now heavy with the sheen of water.

Coach Foster proceeded to lead the other students, setting them up along the side of the pool to learn various strokes. They were barely touching the basics. Foster instructed Ralph and the other swimmer to wait by the side of the pool while the others continued on with the lesson. Before long, Ralph was exceedingly bored as he sat, barely watching the others. He pulled his knees up against his chest, hiding the scar.

While they practiced, the coach approached him. "Medevane, have you ever given thought to trying out for the swim team here?"

Ralph looked up at him. The idea was appealing, but it honestly hadn't crossed his mind. Normal things like that never did anymore, at least not without prompt. Swimming again, even though it was brief, brought back a little more normalcy. It held seductive promise for possibly even solidifying his sanity. It might be really good for him… Ralph thought; the small bit of prospective hope flickered briefly within his chest. "I'm not sure, sir. Maybe…" He replied simply.

Coach Foster smiled a little. "I think that would be a splendid idea. Boys swimming starts up in about a month, so keep an eye out for the postings."

Ralph nodded, rather absentmindedly.

With only fifteen minutes left of class, they were given permission to free swim. Ralph allowed his feet to dangle in the water as he watched the students charge through the pool, some splashed at their friends. Ralph removed the eyewear from his head, setting them on the tiled floor as he slowly lowered himself into the deep end of the pool where few dared to ventured. He kicked off lightly from the wall, lounging back into the water, allowing his head to rest back as he floated peacefully.

Just as quickly as the tranquility was wrought, however, it was destroyed. A strong, quick arm encircled his waist, pulling him under. He gasped, though it was too late, his head had already been submerged and instead of air, he swallowed a copious mouthful of chlorine water. He squeezed his lids shut as the water stung his eyes. Blackness swallowed up his world.

He struggled as violently as the syrupy movement of water would allow. His attacker continued to crush his chest, forcing whatever precious air he had left within his lungs out. Ralph was on panicked overdrive as he took in another unbidden gulp of the chemical-laden water. Another arm wrapped tightly about his throat. Ralph's adrenaline forced him to yank his head forward as he clawed at the arms around him, grating the other's flesh. His head made sharp contact with the wall, the side of the pool. Intense pain flooded his senses as his lungs began to burn.

A sudden dizziness seized him and strength quickly left his body. He grew limp and just as quickly, felt another pair of hands. The arms around his throat and chest were removed, pried away. A strong arm surrounded him, pulling. Ralph's mind buzzed and emptied as he felt his rescuer struggle against the heavy water, pushing him until their faces finally broke the surface. If it were a moment later, he would have blacked out. Ralph painfully gasped, his breath sounding rough and unnatural as he greedily drank in the oxygen. His rescuer forced the blond's arms over his shoulders. Ralph automatically gripped him close, his chest plastered to the other's back and shoulders. His cheek brushed against the boy's hair as he opened his eyes. A handful of boys were leaning over the ledge. They watched with frightened eyes, while others stood nearby. The coach was quickly making his way over, trying not to slip on the saturated, tiled floor.

His rescuer struggled with the weight of Ralph on his back as he neared the edge of the pool. It felt as if he were going at a snail's pace. When Ralph's eyes peered at the back of his rescuer's head, he was shocked at seeing the familiar visage of red.

_Jack_.

Under any other circumstance, he would have pushed him away.

When they finally reached the edge, the coach as well as a few other hands reached over to pull him from the water. Ralph's lungs hurt. Every breath felt like he was swallowing fire. His eyes sought the trash can near the door to the locker room; blood drained his face as he felt bile starting to come up his esophagus. One of the boys noticed this and scurried away to retrieve it. The blond felt so weak, so spent that he could barely move his muscles in that strange suffocating moment. When the boy brought the rubbish bin, he griped the edges as he leaned forward into it, vomiting the contents that he had just swallowed as well as his scant breakfast that morning. He retched until nothing came out, his body shivered unpleasantly as he forced the spasms of his retching to cease, compelling his body to calm down.

"Irvine! To the office! And I expect to see you in detention tomorrow!" The coach barked. His booming voice echoed. Ralph looked up and caught Roger's offhand glare before retreated into the locker room; his forearms bore several angry, red scratches. The dark boy's triumphant lips curved briefly when their eyes connected.

Ralph felt the onslaught of radiating warmth as someone stooped next to him. A hot hand touched the clammy skin of his bare shoulder.

"You ok?" He heard Jack's low mumble. Ralph looked at him, confused. He actually sounded… concerned. Despite the fact that his body screamed that he wasn't, he gave the smallest of nods. Just then, something warm trickled down his brow. Thinking it was water, he wiped at it exasperatingly and winced as fresh pain jolted his senses. His head suddenly felt tender and everything swayed dangerously, knuckles turned white on the edge of the rubbish bin. The back of his hand was now smeared red and the familiar metallic scent of fresh blood assailed his nostrils.

"Uh, coach?" Jack said. "He needs to go to the nurse."

"I do not," Ralph hissed at him. It would only make him feel worse if he were to be coddled like a baby.

"You're bleeding," Jack pointed out straight-faced.

Ralph gingerly touched the spot, grimacing as he did. Coach Foster approached them. "Merridew, take Medevane to the nurse?" He inquired, observing the wound, getting messier by the minute.

"Yes, sir," Jack replied as he offered his hand to Ralph. He pushed it away.

"I don't need your help," Ralph heatedly stated as he stood up, instantly regretting it the moment the warmth rushed quickly from his throbbing head, forcing another rivulet of blood to tickle the skin of his forehead. He would have toppled over had Jack not quickly steadied him, forcing him to lean against his sturdy body. He began to help him over towards the locker room. Pink invaded the blonde's face upon feeling how close their bodies were and how their wet skin stuck together, especially in nothing but sopping swim trunks.

Jack led him to the showers to rinse off the chlorine. He quickly turned on one of the showerheads with a free hand. The other was still wrapped around the smaller boy. The outreached palm tested the water until it was warm.

Ralph briskly freed himself from Jack's grasp as he meandered towards the stream of water. Jack helped wipe away the blood while carefully avoiding the broken skin of his forehead. When Ralph was finished, he stepped aside and waited while Jack rinsed himself off, quickly casting his flustered gaze to the cream-colored tiles. After the water was turned off, Jack immediately held Ralph against him again as they made their way to the lockers, which Ralph didn't think was absolutely necessary, but didn't complain. Jack led him to his locker and proceeded to watch as the blond worked on his combination. Ralph felt the prickle of the unnerving stare crawl over his skin as his locker finally clicked open. After pulling out his towel and drying himself, he peered over at Jack, unnerved to see that he was still there. Pale eyes gleamed, silently watching his every move.

"Don't you have to get dressed too?" Ralph asked, annoyance creeping into his tone.

Jack shrugged, the corner of his lip lifted upwards in a half grin. "It's not important. If I leave, I'll come back to a bloody, crumpled mess on the floor. You're pathetic without me." His voice was light and cocky.

Ralph rolled his eyes before halfheartedly pushing him away. "Get dressed."

Jack left, though his smug expression remained as he turned the corner.

Taking instant advantage of his solitude, Ralph slid the sopping wet trunks down his hips. He dressed as quickly as he could, having some difficulty with getting the dry clothes on without sticking too much to wet skin. The feeling brought on unwelcome flickering images of dirty shorts and relentless, ocean-drenched boys from the island. Ralph's breath hitched; his fingers tightened over his clothes, pulling them on with renewed vigor.

When finished, he walked carefully towards the main hallway of the locker room where Jack had gone, his hand gripping the sides of the lockers as small spells of dizziness came over him with each step.

Sucks to head injuries.

Just as he rounded the corner, he nearly bumped into Jack. "You didn't have to come find me, I was going to get you," Jack grumbled vexingly as he wound one of Ralph's arms over him. One hand took his as it lay over boney shoulders while the other gripped the blond's hip on the other side, pulling him close. Ralph could blushingly feel the contours of Jack's hip against his and the friction of the side of his thigh with every step they took towards the nurse's office.

_Why am I even paying attention to that?_ Ralph silently reproached himself. _This really is stupid_.

When they reached the nurse, the elderly woman behind the desk was instantly flustered at seeing Ralph with more blood pouring from his head since coming from the locker-room.

"Oh my! What happened to you?" She motioned Jack to bring him to one of the cots as she retrieved her supplies.

"Hit his head, the clumsy git," was Jack's quick reply, mock humor poorly hidden. Ralph glowered at him beneath the nurse's attempt to clean his wound before dressing it. When she was done, she handed him an aspirin, saying that head injuries always hurt and bled more than they were worth. He muttered his thanks as he swallowed it with a small sip of water. The dismissal bell rang.

"Stay here. Skip your next class if you need to," Jack muttered. His voice rigid as he made his move to leave. Ralph's heart pounded, sudden and loud, as he quickly reached for and grabbed Jack's forearm, stopping him before he left the cot. Jack shot him a look, confusion touching his severe face. Ralph's eyes averted from his briefly, feeling both a little stupid and bewildered for his reaction.

"Uh…um… th—thank you," Ralph said, somewhat lamely. Jack's gaze softened in the slightest before slowly removing his extremity from Ralph's now loose grip. Jack glanced quickly at the nurse behind her desk scribbling down notes, completely absorbed in her work. He looked back at Ralph and allowed the back of his fingers to gently graze down the side of his face. Ralph felt chills crawl up his spine, though couldn't tell if they were the ominous kind. The feeling overwhelmed him and a dense swallow passed through his throat.

Jack's hand retreated. A light smirk twisted his mouth before leaving. The blond stared blankly as the door closed.

Still feeling dazed, Ralph lowered himself back onto the cot, gingerly arranging his head so that there was no pressure being applied to the bandage. Only moments passed before he drifted into a state of blissful semi-consciousness, free of dreams.

.

.

.

* * *


	5. Anatomy of Secrets

"_Three can keep a secret if two are dead."_

_-Benjamin Franklin_

* * *

_._

_._

_._

"It's not nice to touch other peoples' things," Jack's voice slithered past as Roger finally emerged from the administrator's office. The ginger was leaning elegantly against the wall opposite the door, arms folded casually. His eyes of ice smoldering beneath slightly lowered, superficially calm lids. Roger flecked his gaze over at Jack as he brushed back his black fringe, dark eyes masked beneath his usual display of detachment.

"You touched mine. It's only fair." Roger's voice was low, though came terrifyingly close to a sneer. His body faced him as he folded his arms, unmoving, yet not backing up.

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched unpleasantly as he continued to watch Roger. "You can't have Eckland either."

Hardness crept into the dark boy's eyes. It was then that Jack realized that Roger must have already somehow marked Eckland as his, his new prey. How he did that, he didn't know nor did he necessarily want to know. Anything Roger did was his own business and Jack usually respected that—to an extent.

"Getting greedy now, are we? You want them all for yourself?" A hint of bitterness touched Roger's speech.

"Eckland's off limits for all of us," Jack snapped back, quickly losing patience.

"Why? Because we killed his brother?" Roger retorted. He said it so easily, so effortlessly, as if dully reiterating what they had for supper the other day. All with a face as vacant as a marionette. Jack's fists clenched against his chest beneath folded arms. His breathing became tattered for a split second. A trivial feeling of satisfaction warmed Roger's insides at the sight of Jack reacting to his blunt words, even if it was minimal at best.

Jack was silent for several seconds as he searched his brain. Roger was clearly intent upon having the Eckland boy and for reasons that he couldn't fathom, Jack just knew that he couldn't let him have his way. Perhaps it was guilt, as Roger insinuated. The redhead felt the heat of irritation at the thought of doing anything out of guilt. He wasn't remorseful, and yet, he still couldn't just let it go.

"He wasn't _there_," Jack said. "He doesn't understand."

"I've gone after plenty of others that weren't there and you never cared," Roger countered quietly.

"Don't argue with me. Just stay away from him."

Roger snorted softly before turning to leave. If he didn't want to argue with him, then their conversation was over.

Jack watched him closely before he allowed his voice to ring out from behind him. "Maybe it is because of his brother." Roger froze, though didn't turn around, listening as Jack continued. "He wasn't supposed to die… We never hunted him."

_Maybe it is remorse_, Jack thought with substantial disgust, as if he just discovered that a part of his body was hopelessly diseased. His face remained still and unmoved despite the sudden break of inner turbulence.

Roger turned his head, his impassive eyes studying his chief. Jack met his gaze with an expression of slight formality. Their masks persisted. Nothing was said as they took a leisure turn away from the other, moving in opposite directions down the corridor.

...

"My God, Ralph… you look terrible," Sam remarked upon seeing him sit at their table for breakfast.

Late as usual.

Ralph nearly dropped his tray on the table; his movements were lackluster, his eyes were once again unresponsive. At least his head wound healed up quickly. Like the nurse said, it just bled more than it was worth. So, he didn't tell them about the pool incident with Roger. Why make them worry? The twins had many more unpleasant memories about Roger than Ralph did.

The twins were already half done with the eggs, bacon, and toast on their trays. Irene was still poking through hers, though cautiously eyed Ralph, waiting for him to either pass out or throw up, either way would give her leave to force him back into the nurse's office. It was what she had first suggested. The dark shadows beneath his eyes were the first thing on his sallow face that she'd noticed. It frightened her that his appearance had been waning so quickly in just the past few days.

He barely ate, vehemently stating that he was never hungry. Irene only scowled at him—no human being, she had said could not be hungry all the time. He refused her help and her suggestion to go to the nurse. Although he never refused her company, so she remained close to him whenever they weren't in class. She helped him study, tried to get him to eat during meals, and even got him to venture outside with her during free time. A little sun would be good for him, she had thought; though he didn't seem to like it as much as she assumed he would.

"Thanks," Ralph mumbled dryly to Sam, his cheek lain against the cool table. It felt nice against his hot skin. "—Makes me feel so much better." It was meant to sound sarcastic, but to everyone's ears, it just sounded washed-out and fatigued. Irene violently stabbed at her food, upset at Ralph being half passed out on the table matched with his stubbornness.

"Ralph, please eat," Irene ordered, trying her authoritative voice on him.

"What—are you my mother now?" Ralph continued with his dull, lifeless voice, never looking up from the table. Irene's utensil clattered loudly onto the table, her eyes heatedly boring holes in to the back of his head before he switched cheeks against the table so that he now looked at her. _That was low,_ she silently raged. _Using his deceased mum like that_. Ralph felt strangely satisfied to see her baulking as he remained unmoved from his position.

"Sure. You want me to be?" She asked, already feeling provoked.

Sam and Eric exchanged knowing glances before looking uncomfortably down at their trays, still eating their food, wondering if this was going to turn into another argument between the two of them. After a moment of silence, Sam peered around the cafeteria until he spotted the female congested table across the room, looking for a certain raven-haired someone. Cynthia and Sam had been hanging out lately during their free time, much to Eric's profound irritation.

It meant that the twins were no longer as joined-at-the-hip like they used to be. They usually enjoyed perturbing others by finishing one another's spoken thoughts and spending the majority of their time indulging in the same activities. Lately, Eric had been feeling a bit jumbled, like his thoughts had no finish, no witty end. Eric saw Cynthia smile when she caught Sam's stare. He grumbled, moving around his spongy scrambled eggs, looking every bit like a child that had just missed Christmas.

Just then, when Eric randomly looked across the room at the furthest area from them in the cafeteria, he spotted the black infested choristers' table. He felt his stomach tighten, nearly to the point of queasiness. He honestly didn't think that he could ever look at choristers the same way ever again. It was then that he noticed Jack, his red hair messily displayed beneath his chorister's cap, staring at their table… again. Eric felt himself stiffen and his skin prickled until he realized that Jack was only looking at one of them. Ralph. The half-dead one, collapsed on the table. Eric turned his eyes away, as calmly as he could.

"Hey," Eric spoke in a conversational tone as he tilted his head towards the table. Sam and Irene looked at him, while Ralph only continued to play dead. "_He's_ looking over here, again."

"What? Why?" Sam tried to sound like he could care less, but his face paled. Eric shrugged.

Irene immediately turned her face towards Jack, her eyes a little distanced as she viewed him. This had been a slowly emerging pattern for almost every meal. Irene was getting a little annoyed by the groups' jumpy tendencies whenever they believed that someone from the chorister table gave them so much as a funny look. So far it seemed that Jack was the one that the twins believed was looking over more so than the others.

"Merridew? What's he to you anyway?" She finally asked, her dry, nearly bored tone obviously not giving much repute to their nervousness. She noticed Ralph from the corner of her eye pick himself up from the table and with great effort began to eat some of his eggs. His head leaned wearily against a propped arm on the table.

"Wait—_now_ you're eating?" Irene raised her brows at him, in mock surprise. "Tell me what I did, so I can do it again in the future."

"Like I'd tell you," Ralph smiled a little at that, his half-lidded eyes still on his tray. "And even if I did, who told you that it would ever work again? I think you'll just have to find something new for each time you want me to do something."

Irene dropped her jaw slightly at him. "God, you're so much work. I don't know if you're even worth the effort." She mumbled at him, a teasing glint decorating her stare.

Ralph laughed a little. "Yes, it would be a lot of effort to outdo yourself each and every time."

"We'll see about that," Irene pursed her lips, a look of determination solidifying.

"Hey wait on a second," Eric interrupted their side exchange. "Are you saying that you _know_ him?" He looked at Irene.

"Sure," She said before taking a sip of her orange juice. All three pairs of eyes were suddenly on her as she paused, waiting for her to go into further detail. The pregnant silence wore on and nobody moved. She looked at them strangely as she set her drink down. "I really don't see what the big deal is. Our parents know each other, so I guess we've also just known each other for a while. It's really nothing monumental." Their faces told her otherwise. They looked at her almost as if she'd just come out and said that she'd made a blood pact with the devil.

"How do your parents know his?" Sam asked, eyes wide as saucers and his face leaning forward, as if listening to an intense ghost story.

Irene, amused by their interest, indulged them. "Our fathers work together. They've been friends since childhood and now they're in a partnership. Mr. Merridew is looking to pass down their half of the business to Jack... that is, if he's up to it. He's an only child… so the sole heir."

"Like you," Ralph interjected quietly, taking another small bite of eggs.

"Mm-hmm," Irene nodded, her face draining of its color, as she played with the edge of her pleated skirt.

Ralph pushed away his tray. His eggs were only half eaten; his bacon and toast remained untouched. Irene looked at him, her old exasperation quickly coming back. "_Ralph_—you have to eat more than that…"

"I'm not hu—"he started.

"And don't say you're not hungry," she interrupted his stupid excuse. "You said that last night, so it's not going to work again." Her expression was enflamed as she stared at him.

"Ok, then," Ralph crossed his arms, challenging her. "The food isn't good."

Damn. Irene couldn't argue with that. School food was school food, after all. She grumbled. "Ok, Mr. Medevane. You got me there. But since you won't finish, you'll have to meet me after classes in front of the dormitories, deal?"

"What for?" Ralph wasn't being argumentative, considering that he's usually willing to tag along with her anyway during their free time, but was simply curious.

"Because I have something that I'd like to share with you," Irene said, a slightly conspiratorial tone to her statement, though her small grin at the end told him that she was just teasing. Ralph felt his skin warm. A common response whenever she smiled like that.

He looked away, feeling a little abashed by his small reaction. Normally things like this didn't happened, or at least that's what he reminded himself. He'd been told that this was typical—that it was normal to feel strange from the small things that never used to bother him. Ralph had certainly been feeling the physical stirrings deep within his gut whenever he accidentally found himself staring at a girl's developing chest as he passed her down the hall or at a girl's bare knees or sometimes even lower thighs as she sat herself at a desk or edged down the pew during chapel. It always ended with his face burning, as if he'd had too much sun.

"Deal," Ralph muttered.

...

Classes drew on a lot longer than Ralph had anticipated. He was grateful for Irene's help in organizing his notes, lessons, and studying, or else he was sure that his marks would already be slipping. Most of his inattentiveness came from his lack of sleep, not a lack of intelligence. His willingness to visit those nightly visions as well as his internal strength for facing them was fast fading. He was afraid of becoming a shell of a person if he continued at this rate. Irene (and Sam and Eric occasionally) continued to nudge him, keeping him on track with reality, was the only thing that helped him move forward, to believe that each day would promise him a fresh start.

Irene shared his theology class. Sometimes, she came into his room with loads of books in order to study in an attempt to keep him on his toes. At one point, as she read verses to him, one in particular stuck out to him. Lamentations—the one verse in particular that talked of the coming of the morning. That mercies begin afresh with each rising sun. Ralph smiled a little at the time, rather partial towards the image that it painted.

As his day wore on, Ralph found that his thoughts were constantly being pulled back to Jack—and the night that he left him standing there by the chapel. His body still cringed at the memory of how he held him down, restricting his freedom, and yet there was the other weird incident at the pool. Ralph would even dare to venture to say that Jack might have been telling him the truth—that he might actually care about some things, like any other human being. Perhaps even for him in some small way. And he guessed that it was in a way that boys weren't supposed to care for other boys. _Perhaps Jack really was_— Ralph didn't finish his thought. He didn't even want to think it.

And yet, Ralph did take notice of Jack around campus, perceiving the way that he never seemed to enjoy the company of girls. He never kept anyone's friendly company; really, except some of the other choristers. All this Ralph perceived simply by casual observation as he passed from one class to another and during meals. Beyond that; however, this new, few-years-older-Jack remained a mystery.

These thoughts flitted about his mind as he now waited outside the boys' dormitory. His back leaned haphazardly against the building, a little ways from the main doors. After the sky began to display its shades of sunset, Ralph began to wonder where Irene had gone off to. She said to wait here after classes, yet they ended nearly forty minutes ago, he perceived after checking his wristwatch.

Just then, Ralph felt someone watching him. The hairs of his neck rose slightly as he slowly brought his eyes from the face of his watch to the boy approaching the front of the dormitory. The red hair caused his heart to skip a beat as he noticed the icy eyes slide over his face. Jack was in his normal school clothes. He walked as casually as he could; trying to keep his eyes on the path as he approached the door when he noticed that Ralph had caught him looking.

Jack's hand tightened. The redhead risked another glance at Ralph, allowing his eyes to settle on his face before examining the rest of him. A heavy once-over. All in a matter of a couple seconds. A simple up and down sweep of his eyes before he quickly opened the door and disappeared within the building.

Ralph noticed all of it. He caught the way that Jack eyed him and felt a slow shiver touch his body with the recollection. Ralph's cheeks burned with the realization. He didn't just feel that, did he? It was a similar reaction whenever he caught himself staring at a girl. His hands briefly pressed against his face, fervently willing the skin to cool down.

Moments later, Irene arrived. Her cheeks were slightly red and she was a little breathless, like she had run across campus just to meet him. Strands of her brown hair had escaped her braid, giving her a slightly wild look. She was holding a box. "Oh gosh, Ralph," she spoke between breaths. "I am so sorry that I made you wait for so long. I was detained."

"Where were you?" Ralph asked, silently offering to carry the box, which Irene obliged to. Ralph held onto her package under his arm as he followed her. She set off immediately towards the large cluster of trees in the distance. It was a bit of a walk from the school.

"A chorister wanted to talk to me," Irene said, slowing down her pace slightly so that she was keeping pace with Ralph, though still a little ahead to guide them. Ralph felt himself stiffen. He had never seen her with a chorister before—at least not during their free time. After a long pause of silence, Irene spoke up again. "He wanted… to talk about you actually." She turned to look at him, gauging his reaction.

Ralph looked back at her, surprised. "Who?"

"I've never met him before, but he said that his name was Robert…um, Robert Humphrey." Ralph remembered a Robert from the island; though it might be a longshot that it was the same Robert. He didn't know his full name and Robert was a common name. Still, it was possible, seeing as a small handful of the others were here. The Robert he knew was a chorister as well… though he didn't remember seeing him amongst the other choristers on his first day here. Ralph pondered this quickly, his brows knitted together.

Irene grasped his arm, gently awakening him from the temporary stupor of thought when they reached the line of trees. The school was far behind them—for a walk's length, that is.

"Over here, Ralph," she spoke quietly. She immersed herself carefully within the thickest part of the trees, trying to avoid getting needlessly scratched and prodded by persistent branches. Ralph managed well enough. His arm held the box even tighter as he pulled it along with him. They took a few more twists and turns amidst the brush before they came to a tiny clearing. It was almost perfectly circular and it displayed a flawless gap in the tree line above, a glimpse of the cloudless sky. Even the ground was smooth, free of rocks and old roots, though the long grass was wild and tickled their ankles and in Irene's case, her legs.

"Alright," Irene smiled up at Ralph as she took the box from him. She laid it down, indenting the grass as she removed a medium sized blanket from the top. She moved the box over gently with the heel of her shoe before draping the blanket over the grass. She plopped down onto one side of it, sitting on top of her legs as she brought the box closer to her. For a moment, she looked up at Ralph, her eyes smiling. "Well—come on."

Ralph sat down next to her. As she continued to open her box, Ralph noticed the silence, the absolute serene quality of Irene's secluded area. He enjoyed it, almost feeling like they weren't even at school. He brought his knees close to his chest.

"Now, you are lucky…" Irene spoke, her voice filling the air as she glanced up at him from her box. She paused, looking at him for a few, lost seconds before abruptly continuing. Obvious distraction clouded her thoughts, though Ralph remained in the dark as she fumbled. "You're lucky… because you're the first person that I've ever shown this place to. It's my little secret, so you must promise me not to share it with anyone else."

"Well, it's a secret no more. It can't technically be called that when you start showing others," Ralph said, feeling the need to tease.

Irene sighed, a little riled. "Fine, Mr. Technicalities. Then it will be _our_ secret. No one else can know." A small, mischievous smile formed over her lips as she added, "Actually I probably should have made you swore that you wouldn't tell anyone about this place before I brought you here, hmm?"

Ralph nodded. "That is usually how those things go... But I do distinctly remember saying that you had to find interesting ways to get me to do what you want."

"Alright, then... I have a proposition," Irene announced. She waited for a moment before adding in a more serious, quiet tone. "I think that this should be a place that is especially secret, meaning… whatever is spoken here, whatever we might reveal, must also remain a secret." Her dark eyes looked up at Ralph's, completely honest and wide, her face bearing no sign of deception. She suddenly smiled and was once again playful as she added, "Unless, of course, given exclusive permission by the other person."

Ralph digested her words and felt… surprisingly refreshed, to have someone with him that didn't share the same knowledge that he carried from the island, the same horrendous truth. Looking into her naïve brown eyes, he knew that she held no memories of death, none of the shadows of human hearts, or of proverbial painted masks. And he wanted her to remain that way, wanted to protect her innocence from ever being as tarnished or as hideously warped as his.

"I like your proposition," Ralph leaned towards her a little and spoke as honestly and seriously as he could. A small corner of his mouth curved for an instant before disappearing.

Irene froze, her eyes widened slightly. This was the closest that he had ever physically been to her. She didn't know what to make of the small change within her shortened breath. So, instead of pondering upon it for too long, she blindly reached for the box, her hand at first missed it completely, only grasping at air, causing her blush to deepen. She broke her gaze completely as she successfully grabbed the box, clearing her throat.

"So, since you haven't been eating very well for a while, I thought you might like some things that my mother sent me in a care package." She opened the box as well as a few coverings before setting it upon his lap. Ralph peered in. The first things he saw were the parceled sweets amongst other baked items, but it was really the chocolate that caught his attention… It was his favorite food, even if most didn't really belong in any of the five basic food groups. He didn't care and his mother never did either. So he counted it as his.

Ralph wasn't sure of what to say at first. As strange as it may have seemed, these actually brought him memories of his mum, back when she used to bake. Since then, knowing only boarding schools, he hadn't had the pleasure of any homemade things since. His father was always gone (not that he could have baked anyways, being terrible at anything culinary) and he had very few extended relatives. And even amongst those, there were no homemakers. They were just more individuals hell-bent on their career and leaving their kids in boarding schools.

"A-Are you sure this is alright? I mean, they are yours…" Ralph stammered slightly, feeling rather touched despite himself. Irene smiled shyly.

"Do you honestly think that those are _all_ for me?" She laughed. "My mum specifically wrote in her letter to give you some as well, seeing as your practically part of the family." Irene paused, her voice softened, "I guess she sort of saw your mum as being like her sister. She doesn't have any sisters."

"Thank you," Ralph's voice was barely audible, his eyes cast downward.

"Don't thank me…" Irene blushed again. "I'm just the messenger girl."

"I still want to thank you," Ralph insisted, though his voice wasn't forceful, just sincere. "For being kind… I mean, I'm just some random person that happened upon your doorstep. Well, not really random, but you get the idea… You didn't have to show me around the school, or deal with me or… make sure that I get enough to eat." He said the last part with a small laugh before turning serious again. "You're a good person."

"So are you," Irene said quietly as she scooted a little closer to him, noticing that the sun had almost completely gone and the air was a bit cooler. Ralph shifted in his seat and folded his arms about his chest, also feeling the slight chill in the air, though for him, he just felt barren. He sighed, something darkened his expression.

"No… I'm not," Ralph spoke faintly. Thick silence draped over their little serene alcove. Irene could only watch him, her mind trying to understand, though didn't want to interrupt. Ralph took a breath and continued.

"I honestly don't deserve any of this. I… used to think of myself as the good guy. But…" Ralph closed his eyes briefly, an image of Simon with his gentle eyes, even faultless as he died at the hands of so many. His face continued to haunt him, more so than the other faces that inhabited his dreams. Ralph looked down at his hands—a murderer's hands, he thought.

Irene saw the transformation in his face, saw the way that he looked at himself and hated it. Whatever it was that was lingering in his mind, she despised it. Without thinking, she took one of his cold hands between hers and held it close to her body, as if he were in desperate need of warmth. She felt Ralph flinch and tried to half-heartedly pull away from her.

"Ralph."

Dark, reluctant eyes connected with hers. The shadows were growing and the sun had nearly disappeared within the horizon.

"I don't… know everything about you," Irene paused as she lowered her gaze, feeling a little stupid for stating the obvious, but refused to stop, her face continuing to burn as she talked, "I know that there's so much that you keep to yourself. I see the way you are whenever you're around us… or maybe just around people in general. But I can tell that you're alone… even when you're with people. Sometimes…"

She felt Ralph's free hand touch her cheek. She tried her best to ignore it, her eyes strained away from him, feeling almost feverish as she continued, "…sometimes, you look like you're in so much pain and I feel so useless. You know how I get—"the voice behind her long-winded words began to shake lightly when she felt Ralph apply more pressure to her cheek, bringing her closer. She felt her face flush, though it was difficult to see in the growing dimness. Her nervous speech refused to stop, even as it began to stumble. "—w-when I want to help. That's why I wanted to show you my secret. I—I…"

She was cut off when she felt the warmth of his closeness, felt his breath upon her face, and felt his mouth gently touch hers. It was a simple, electrifying sweep of his lips against hers. He retreated. He brought his mouth upon her again, a little firmer and moved. A sound of surprise came from the back of her throat, though at the same time, she couldn't help melting into his sudden kiss, feeling completely powerless against the feather light traces of fluttering desire within her stomach.

It was only a moment of stillness from her end until she began to timidly move her mouth against his. She felt inept and inexperienced with this being her very first kiss, but then she supposed that his mouth was just as unused to this as hers. They both pulled away until their noses touched, their breath heavy, their mouths tingling with excitement and warmth.

Irene's hands were now trembling as they still held one of Ralph's. He took his hand back without much resistance. Irene continued to stare at him, his eyes boldly looking back as he brought his recently freed hand to the escaping strands of her hair. He gathered them with his mild touch and put them behind her ear.

"I think that—" Ralph's blush continued to paint his face. "—I've wanted to do that for awhile now." He looked down briefly, embarrassed at admitting such a thing, especially considering that his inexperience strengthened the forbidden feel of everything, their glances, their friendly touches, and now their scant kiss. The very idea of indulging in it under the strict rule of their school, especially since he instigated it, felt like he was doing something wrong.

He had expected her to pull away, perhaps even to voice her disapproval. It was a surprise, then, when he felt her draw close to him, her warm hands gently moved to the sides of his face. Her expression was as calm as the gentle breeze that kindled the atmosphere.

She smiled shyly, unable to think of anything to say, so instead, closed the gap. She captured his lips for the first time. It was hard to say who was responsible for the kiss suddenly deepening. With each thrilling, reckless stroke of the mouth, Ralph found himself pulling gently and sucking at her bottom lip, his body asking insistently for more.

Irene released her breath when she suddenly felt his hands softly slip down to her backside, lifting her in an attempt to bring them even closer. Their chests collided gently. Ralph released an unsteady groan against her lips when he first felt the soft pressure of Irene's mild breasts against him, even though the cloth of their shirts. It felt exactly how he thought they looked—soft yet somehow firm at the same time. 

By the time they pulled apart for air, Irene was startled to find that she had been pulled onto his lap; his hands grasped the backs of her knees on each side of him. Irene felt the instant rise of panic and swiftly removed his hands, to which he quickly complied to and allowed herself to fall back onto the blanket, immediately righting her disordered clothing, turning from him.

"We should be getting back," apprehension clouded her voice. Ralph looked away, trying in vain to catch his breath.

As he helped her fold the blanket, he found that he felt a little chastised by the look of humiliation that had crossed her features when she pulled away from him, though was a bit surprised to know that he didn't regret it. Any of it. Instead, he found that he craved and wanted to experiment with more. The onslaught of the sudden longing took him to a place of uneasiness, for its dark familiarity.

As they walked back to the campus, Ralph followed her, holding the box and eyeing her back. Even in the growing darkness, he could make out her form pretty well. When keeping such a close distance and feeling the intensity of it, Ralph uneasily felt like a predator.

When they arrived at the front of the boy's dormitory. Ralph scanned the area and when he didn't find anyone, he took gentle hold of Irene's shoulder with his free hand before she attempted to make an abrupt departure. She looked back at him, anxiety creeping into her face.

"Ralph," she whispered harshly. "We can't. We could get in so much trouble." Her words only made him hesitate for a short while as he brought himself closer to her, his hand still on her arm.

"No one's around," he said. She glared at him.

"Just a little…?" Ralph's attempt at pleading was marred by his mischievous smile.

"No," Irene's weak refusal left her lips the moment she drew closer to him. Ralph took the chance, capturing her mouth before her resolve became stronger. His hand went from her arm to the back of her head, smoothly pushing her face harder against his. His kiss was deeper. Irene released a sound that embarrassed her to no end when she suddenly felt Ralph's warm tongue slide deftly between the indent of her lips. It was so hot and stimulating; she immediately felt an intense shiver. Confused and a little frightened by her reaction, she instantly broke away from him, her face beet red.

"That was _not_ just a little," she reproached him, trying to sound harsh, though her voice became shaky as her fingers touched her mouth, now warm and wet from Ralph's tongue. He watched her fingers, his eyes a shade darker. When he tried to lean towards her again, Irene put her other hand over his mouth, stopping him. Ok, now he was just being greedy. She stifled her smile.

"That's enough for you… or else we're really going to get caught," she said, her voice both serious and amused by his stubborn persistence. She was secretly terrified at how much she didn't want to stop.

Ralph reached up and pressed her hand briefly against his mouth before removing it. "Alright, fine," he said. "Will you still come over tomorrow to help me study?" Irene nodded slowly, her face still dark with the rush of blood.

"Good," Ralph said. He looked down at the box that was still tucked beneath his other arm. "Oh and…" He tried handing the package back over to her. She shook her head before softly pushing it back towards him.

"It's your half, remember?" She smiled, an action that somehow felt immensely more tender than her other smiles. "Besides," She spoke again, her voice back to normal. "You need it a lot more than I do." Ralph looked down at his clothes, growing looser with each passing day since coming to school. He shrugged, though felt the awkward heat touch his insides.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Irene said and gave Ralph's hand a small squeeze before leaving. He watched her for a moment before retreating into the shadowed halls of the boys' dormitory.

.

.

.

* * *


	6. Blood Chocolate

"_A chocolate in the mouth is worth two on the plate."_

* * *

_._

_._

_._

Ralph was roused to the shrill knocking of his door. Groaning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, irritably remembering that it was Saturday morning, a now missed opportunity for extended, uninterrupted sleep. The knock came again, more urgent, causing Ralph to nearly tumble from his bed as he got up. He quickly made his way over before tearing open the door, revealing a boy that he had never seen before. There was another behind him, carrying an obscenely large box, filled to the brim with various packages and letters.

"Ralph Medevane?" The boy in front asked.

"Yes," Ralph answered, hoping that he didn't look as stupid and confused as he had sounded. He still felt like he was only half awake, viewing the world through barely aware lens. The boy was polite, however, and seemed patient enough as he fumbled through a bag that he wore over his shoulder before pulling out a thick envelope.

"This is for you. Came in just today." He said before turning back to his companion with the larger burden and they dutifully continued down the hallway onto the next room. Ralph stared dumbly at the letter in his hand for a moment before realizing that he was still standing halfway out in the corridor. He shut the door while still examining the envelope. The handwriting on it was familiar—neat and formal.

Confusion flooded Ralph's slowly stirring mind as he tore open the letter, wondering why his dad would have sent him something. Just as rigid fingers touched the crinkled edges of money tucked behind the actual letter did sudden realization hit. Today was his birthday. Even after the island, birthdays still held no real importance to him other than to monotonously remind him of his age.

He pulled the letter out, careful to keep the money securely tucked within the envelope. It was short and concise, filled with promises of writing more soon, and to write more often. Ralph tucked the folded paper upon his nightstand, believing few of the displayed words—not out of malice, but rather of simple acceptance. He knew that the commander was far too busy to deal with him. The practiced thought hung within the room, over his mind like the thick, suffocating blanket of duty that it had always been. The blonde felt cold, his fingers numb as another poisonous thought slithered on the edge of his mind, beneath a mask of stone. And for a fleeting, stomach-clenching moment, he wondered if he had died on the island, if his father would have lived any differently.

Probably not.

He stifled the unwanted thought away, though not swiftly enough to quench the image of his mother—of his last good-bye.

…

_The afternoon was a clammy, rainy one. Perfect weather to hold a funeral, the then eight-year-old Ralph dazedly decided. His fingers curled stiffly over the rigid end of his sleeves as the vicar recited Psalms 23. He hated the stiff, formal clothes that his father forced him to wear. He only relented without a further struggle when he was sharply reprimanded—was told that it was out of respect for his poor mum. _

"_Mum doesn't mind… She hates these sorts of clothes," Ralph wanted to say, before grasping that he was still using the present-tense. Chastised into silence upon the realization and feeling fat tears leave his eyes, he kept quiet, staring down at his stiff, black shoes. It was true, though, Ralph stubbornly retained. She never liked wearing formal clothes. He remembered her telling him that she had come from a family that forced her to wear such things all the time. Expensive, lavish things that she came to hate. Prisoner's clothes, she called them, until she met his dad. _

_Ralph was always entranced by her stories—unaware at his young age that they weren't exactly stories and represented more of the truth of the cruel world beyond his mother's warm, safe arms. He wondered if that's why his mum's side of the family seemed to hate them so much—their small family of three. His mother's parents were apparently unprepared to have a daughter that wasn't docile and submissive like her sisters. She was as obstinate as a mule and held onto a harsh temper carefully veiled beneath a cool exterior—a startling contrast to her pale, angelic face. _

_She was true to her family, however, when it came to her talents. She was a singer—a lover of the classics. Music ran through their blood as well as deeply as it had within her father's bank account. He was the proud owner of a prestigious record label company. _

_The eight-year-old Ralph screwed his eyes shut against the icy rain as it brought him out of his ruminations. The unfeeling atmosphere seeped deep, creeping into his shivering bones. The vicar's voice, aged and feeble, forced the mental image of his mum's soft, smiling face to blur, to meld into the unkind, gray atmosphere of where her body was being laid. The gaping, black hole in the ground startled him, lurched his heart into a sickening rhythm. The sopping ground was too cold, too unforgiving to swallow her body. He wanted to feel her warmth one last time—to swallow up his aching, freezing heart._

_His tears slid fast and hot now, were staining pale cheeks. He could almost hear her voice, soft and lilting, just like how she used to sing to him—the only use for her voice when her family cut her off after eloping with his father. What was the name of that song that she liked to sing so much? Something about the moon and how its song remained incomplete—Ralph indignantly wiped the watery grief from his face. He felt sudden, childish resentment over the fact that he couldn't remember the title of the song—like he was already betraying her memory, already losing his grip on her. He didn't want to forget the way that her lilac perfume laced their home; a scent that slowly began to fade… or the way that her soft, golden curls felt against his face when he hugged her… or how her gentle laughter livened her eyes._

_His empty, wide-eyed stare slid to the crowd, to the statue-like faces of the adults that had gathered—all identical in their black, prisoner's clothes. All identical in their lack of emotion. He wondered if any of them truly knew about his mother's beautiful smile, her lilac scent, or of her singing. Ralph tried to put a memory with any of the faces—none came. His father, standing close by, was the only other one aside from himself with swollen, mottled eyes. _

_Just before the vicar concluded the reading of passage, Ralph saw another individual approach the gathering close by, one of the tallest, most intimidating men that he had ever laid eyes upon. He—like every other man present—was dressed in a dark suit meticulously tucked beneath a long, expensive looking coat. His fedora tilted slightly forward, causing shadows to crease into his stony expression. The crude apathy within his eyes was the most fear-provoking display as they swept across the smooth wood of his mother's coffin. Unlike everyone else, this stranger began to unabashedly scrutinize the face of every person there—his eyes coldly calculating, as if judging their worth. Ralph cringed as he felt the man's harsh gaze upon him next, unconsciously slipping his frozen, rain-slickened hand into his father's. _

_Ralph risked another glance at the man and was startled with the fact that he was still staring at him. An shiver ran through his cold body at the man's icy blue eyes. They were the eyes that he would have imagined on a fictitious monster—one that terrorized just for the sake of being dominant. Never would he have put them upon a person._

_The blonde tore his wide eyes away and he held his father's hand now with sharp pressure. He felt his father shift beside him, though Ralph kept his eyes on the ground. The man with the inhuman eyes began to withdraw from the unreceptive crowd. His stride casual and confident as he stalked away. Ralph's eyes burned, however, when he heard the man mutter something that he instinctually knew was foul—something that his sheltered, innocent ears had not yet heard before._

"_What a fucking waste."_

…

Ralph broke from the memory as he finished slipping into casual clothes—jeans and a t-shirt. Gooseflesh rose along his bare arms at the dry coolness of the autumn air, still present within his room. He yanked a sweater from his open drawer and pulled it over him just as he heard another sharp knock to the door. He grumbled when his head got caught in the sweater's opening. He dragged it back hard, forcing his hair into an instant golden frenzy when it finally pulled through.

"Coming," he shouted when the second knock came. Running a quick hand through his hair, he noticed that it was going to need a cut soon. The ends were beginning to curl slightly as they fell across his forehead and already halfway covered his ears. He sighed, irritated, before reaching the door.

And it opened to reveal an impatient Irene, also dressed in jeans and a sweater. Her book bag was slung arbitrarily over her shoulder. It was the sight of the books in her arms that forced Ralph to remember that she was studying with him today. Irene's dark eyes widened upon inspecting him. Her mouth opened, though no words formed. She closed it before it sprang open again.

"Ralph, is everything ok?" She asked cautiously, her gaze sweeping over him as she stepped forward into his room.

Ralph drew back, allowing her in before shutting the door. "Uh, yeah… Why?" He answered, almost inattentively. His mind was still half within the assault of the memory after reading his dad's short note. Irene only further studied him as she set her things upon his desk, a look of doubt creeping into her eyes.

"You—well—look like you've been crying," she stated simply, though quietly, trying not to embarrass him.

"What? No I havn—" Ralph irritably touched his cheek, though stopped mid-sentence when he felt that his eyes were a little wet. He wiped them hard and fast with the back of his hand, the fresh flush of mortification already burning his face. Irene's face softened at his display.

"Is something wrong?" She asked as she sat on the edge of his bed, her gaze flitted briefly to the white paper that still lay upon his nightstand. Curiosity burned blatantly as she turned back towards Ralph. He noticed it.

"Just a letter from my dad. You can read it if you want." He shrugged as she held it. Her eyes assailed the writing. "And no, nothing's wrong." He finished, a trace of frustration making itself known within his voice. Just then, he remembered exactly what was in the letter and instantly regretted letting her read it. And so casually. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Err—wait a minute—" He said as he quickly stepped closer to her, though he could tell by the growing, horrified expression upon her face that it was too late. He released a quiet, frustrated groan.

"Ralph! Why didn't you tell me that it's your birthday today?" Irene questioned in an elevated voice, her expression completely dumbfounded by the discovery. "No wonder you looked like you were crying," her voice softened significantly with the last statement.

"I wasn't crying!" Ralph growled, instantly annoyed with the fact that she was being so emotional about it. "And I sort of forgot that it was today…" he ended sheepishly.

"How can you forget your own birthday?" Irene asked, disbelief wrought her voice.

"It's just a birthday. It's not like it's really all that different from any other day. S'not that hard to forget…" Ralph muttered.

Irene released an exasperating sigh. She was silent for a moment before her frown began to loosen. "Well at least I found out early in the day and not while we were having supper."

Ralph wasn't exactly sure if he liked the sound of that. "Uh… shouldn't we get to studying?" He said as he took one of her textbooks from his desk; it was labeled 'Biology'. Irene snatched the book from his hand before it had pounded back upon the desk. She slid all of the studying material to the side, momentarily out of his reach.

"Of course not! We are leaving for the day." Irene smiled. "Well… for as long as they'll let us sign out for." She folded her arms, waiting for him to challenge her; a look of stubborn fortitude took over her features.

"That's not necessary," he said. Silence thickened the air as Irene scowled at him. He folded his arms, matching her dogged expression, though not to the same extent. "Really. I wouldn't mind spending the day trying to improve my marks."

"But we can do that _tomorrow_," Irene argued, her voice grew marginally lower as she stepped closer to him; her fingertips softly touched his forearm. "Please?" Ralph's expression softened with that, particularly with the brief recollection of their time together the evening before. He leaned into her touch, despite the fact that he knew she was doing this on purpose.

_Dammit_.

"Uh…sure," Ralph relented, his will suddenly feeling markedly weaker than before… and she did all that within a matter of seconds.

"Really…? Okay, let's go," Irene spoke a little haltingly, disbelieving that she could convince him so quickly. She was sure that this was going to be a struggle. She hid her smile, liking this newfound power of persuasion. "I'll just leave my things here." She rummaged through her book bag until she found her personal bag. She pulled the strap over her shoulder as she left the book bag slung over the back of his chair. Ralph followed her out the door and down the halls, trying to take his defeat as graciously as he could.

_Could be fun_… Ralph thought, though it didn't do much to improve his presently drab mood.

It was actually sunny today, a fact that lifted both of their spirits as they checked out within the administration's office. Several other students seemed to have held the same idea of venturing out into town, altogether willing victims in the draw of rare, sunny day. Irene seemed to have also taken Ralph's concern for his grades to heart, for she began to verbally quiz him in Theology for the upcoming test. He didn't grumble about it, but played along, sometimes even getting some of the answers purposefully wrong just to annoy her. He smiled, stifling a laugh when her mouth took on a slight grimace at his third wrong answer in a row.

"Hmm—perhaps we should have studied," Ralph playfully attempted to provoke her as they continued to walk down the sidewalk, passing various shops. Irene snorted.

"_Perhaps_ you need to stop being such a pessimist. Honestly! What normal person would rather stay cooped up studying, of all things, when you could be outside doing things?" Irene objected as she turned around to face him, carefully walking backwards along the pavement in front of him.

"Well, I wouldn't consider it abnormal. What is normal, anyway?" The blond rebuffed, a decidedly smug expression slowly taking dominance the longer that he stared at Irene. She noticed this and sighed—long and irritable, though her eyes sparkled with hidden amusement. Concentrating on their conversation, Irene briefly lost her footing on the walkway, though quickly regained her footing. She looked up, pink touching her cheeks lightly. Something caught her eye over Ralph's shoulder. It was the dark-haired chorister that seemed to always put Ralph on edge... and only a few steps behind him was the blazing-haired Merridew. They had just casually rounded the corner further down the road and though Merridew didn't seem to have seen them, Irvine's eyes immediately connected with hers.

Irene looked back at Ralph and spoke as conversationally as she could with an innocent expression. "Hey don't look now, but two of your chorister friends are down the road behind us." She noticed Ralph pale.

"How far?" He whispered as he continued forward at a leisure pace, his eyes glued to hers, as if it was the only way that he wouldn't be tempted to look over his shoulder.

"I'd say about fifty metres."

With that, Ralph casually looked to the side, noticing an alleyway coming up within the next turn of the building. His eyes gleamed with a sudden, obscure mischief as he jolted his head back towards Irene. "Feeling a little adventurous?" He dared.

Irene immediately caught onto his suddenly spirited take on the situation as it leaked into her face, wondering what he had in mind. "Bring it, Medevane," she accepted in a low voice, a devious smile shrouding her lips.

"Good," Ralph said a little breathy now as he took her hand as they neared their breakaway point. "Follow me." Irene looked at where he was looking and glanced back towards where she last saw Irvine, a little flustered to see that he was now starting to make his way towards them. Merridew still looked oblivious towards the situation as he began to eye something within one of the windows.

Just as they rounded the corner into the alleyway, they took off. Ralph lead the way, though their grasp upon each other's hands never slackened. Irene kept pace with him fairly well. They emerged within the other street, though Ralph wasted no time in lingering and began to immediately cross the street as soon as he saw that no cars were coming down the road. Irene remained close to his heels, their shoes making sharp, loud contact with the street. Irene risked a glance behind and was glad to see that they weren't being followed. Once they hit the other side of the road, Ralph continued to sprint until reaching another break within the buildings. They went through without a moment's hesitancy—their cheeks were now rosy with the combination of the thrill and exertion. Irene looked behind once more and caught a brief glimpse of Irvine's dark head just as he emerged from the alleyway that they had first previously gone through.

"He's in the last street," Irene said just as they rounded the corner into the next street, her pulse pounded hard within her chest as she grinned. Ralph didn't respond, but only dashed to the nearest door to them, which happened to be a pristine, little sweets shop. He opened the door, much rougher than was necessary, and pulled Irene in behind him, nearly causing her to tumble into him. Irene pushed the door closed with her weight as Ralph leaned against her, up against the door, both attempting to catch their excited breath.

Their heavy breathing was interrupted by the sudden eruption of their unbridled laughter. After a nearly full minute passed, the hilarity began to taper off, though their bodies still quivered with silent amusement. Irene suddenly realized just how many eyes were upon them as she lifted her face up and over Ralph's shoulder as he continued to face the door, his eyes peering out the window. Irene pulled the blonde up from her, forcing him to look around at their environment—at the customers as they glared at them as if they were a pair of no-good chavs.

Ralph and Irene quickly righted themselves, their faces both a growing shade of beet red as they moved away from the door, now deathly quiet as they pretended to meekly view the selections like everybody else seemed to be doing. Ralph's hands were shoved deep within his jean pockets as Irene fingered the sleeve of her sweater. As soon as they were once again ignored by the patrons and her face had finally managed to cool from the censure, Irene slipped her arm absentmindedly around Ralph's, bringing herself slightly closer to him. His cheeks began to color once again as a light, warm thrill tingled at the contact.

They waited there, inattentively viewing the displays as they glanced every so often towards the windows, waiting to catch a glimpse of their prospective followers. They didn't show; however, and Ralph grew easier as the minutes idled by. The number of customers began to dwindle as they made their purchases.

Ralph finally began to take in the details of the small shop. On the outside, it was white and shone in rather unambiguous contrast with the other shops that surrounded it. Inside, it appeared more worn and held a more homey appeal. The walls were lined and decorated with every candied color, while the shelves housed the more delicate confectionaries. Ralph could feel the corner of his mouth tighten into a half smile, feeling more like a small child again the longer he stared at the varying colors. Irene chuckled softly, noticing his change of expression.

"See something you like?" Her smile widened when his arm that she held attempted to nudge, though she only grasped onto it tightly so that he wouldn't jab her. Her eyes gleamed with simulated victory as she looked back at him. "Well—pick something out."

She released his arm and stepped back when he gave her a dubious look. "Hey, don't look at me like that. You're the one that forgot to mention that it was your birthday. How else am I going to treat you?" Irene's lips curved even more at him before turning around, drifting closer to the counter. Her eyes wandered towards the pretty displays of chocolate behind the glass.

Irene soon spied an older woman slouched in her chair behind the counter, a tissue clutched tightly in her hand as she dabbed irritatingly at the corners of her eyes. The woman caught her stare and quickly threw the used tissue away somewhere in a rubbish bin beneath the counter. She smiled feebly, though the action was grotesquely forced, the faraway, pained look never left her gaze. Irene had never been greeted before with a more demoralized expression.

"Good afternoon," the woman's voice was slightly rough, as if unused to speaking. "If you have any questions, please feel free to ask away." She stated with as much friendliness as she could muster, though it sounded routine and monotonous.

"Good afternoon, ma'am, and thanks… I will," Irene replied politely. The brunette's eyes traveled behind the counter, towards the dark stairs that led to the second floor.

"If you don't mind my asking… what's on the second floor?" She felt herself blurt out, though the slight heat trickled into her cheeks with the prospect that she was possibly being intrusive. The old woman looked a little lost for a moment, as if righting her brain, translating what Irene had just asked her before the light of understanding filtered through.

"Oh… not at all. I actually live up on the second floor." She smiled at Irene's look of slight disbelief. "It can be snug at times, but it's just fine for one… or two." The woman's gaze skimmed briefly over the spotless counter surface until it reached the wall closest to her, lined with old photographs—mostly of various groups of people. Irene followed her gaze, drawing closer to get a better look.

"All by yourself?" Irene wondered softly out loud.

"The shop was actually started by my brother," the woman said, whilst pointing to a monochromic photograph of a dark-haired, smiling man with a bushy mustache, proudly standing before the front of the sweets shop. "He did live here before I did… but has since died."

"I'm sorry," Irene lowered her eyes slightly. She felt the familiar figure of Ralph as he slowly approached close behind her.

The older woman shook her head. "No, it's really quite alright, love. It's been many years since." At this point, she seemed to beam brightly, if only for a moment as she added. "And I had his son to take care of. Would you like to see more?" Not waiting for an answer, her strained, white fingers pulled something out of a worn bag that slung from one of the old, wooden chairs behind the counter. Irene thought that she was a little overeager over something as trivial as showing random strangers her personal photos, but she supposed that there were lots of nostalgic old women that tended to do that in public.

Perhaps she hasn't really had anyone to talk to in a while, Irene inferred silently as she drew closer to the counter. The woman laid bare her treasured images. Ralph followed closely behind, his attention oddly piqued.

The woman fingered one photograph in particular. Its cracked edges were starting to curl with age and excessive handling. She offered it to Irene with reverent gentleness. Her dark eyes surveyed a young boy sitting on the curb; his eyes squinted up at the person holding the camera, sun glinting off his round glasses, only more emphasized by the roundness of his pale cheeks. He looked to be about nine years old in this picture. Irene couldn't help but to smile. There was something enduring about the pudgy, young boy. She carefully laid the picture back on the counter as the woman handed her a few more—one of the boy on his bike, a few others in his school uniform on the first day of school.

"Aw…he's cute," Irene spoke as she flipped through the others. Their attention was too fastened upon the counter now scattered with old photographs to notice the suddenly ashen-faced Ralph—his eyes immobile upon the very first image shown of the boy—the only person whose friendship ever truly meant anything—the boy whose proper name he didn't even know. Flashes of past conch meetings, shelters, and fire trudged through his mind, invading it like savages with pointed sticks. The images ended with one of a broken skull upon rocks, secreting clumps of red and white. Ralph turned away from the two, the threat of bile and tears burning his throat.

Oh God... He felt like he was going to be sick. He turned his eyes away, but he couldn't see anything within the building without seeing Piggy. Without hearing his muffled, pungent voice. He blinked and felt something unpleasantly wet escape.

No, not here! Why was he so bloody weak? Why couldn't he be strong—like his father? The rebuking thoughts only created more wet tracks down his face. Luckily, there were no other customers than Irene and himself, though it did little to sway the burn of shame and sorrow as it settled heavily and sickeningly within his gut.

Irene glanced back towards her blonde companion, surprised to see that he had wandered away towards the other end of the shop, as the woman began to carefully put away her pictures as she dabbed at the corners of her cheeks, blaming seasonal allergies. Irene excused herself as she followed him, slipping behind one of the shelves; and was fixed for a moment as she surveyed a brief glimpse of his tears. He noticed her and only turned further away, but not before Irene shifted closer, nearly colliding with his body against the wall, her arms tight about his frame in a fierce embrace. No words were exchanged.

They stood like that for a moment, melting, forgetting for a moment where exactly they were. Ralph made a move to wipe at his face with resentful hands, but not before Irene reached up, gently removing them from with the sides of her thumbs. The blonde opened his mouth, a justification ready, though was silenced by her fingers. "No one saw them… and neither did I," Irene offered him a small, sad smile. He would tell her when he was ready, she quietly assessed. Just like so many other things that made little sense to her about him.

For a moment they stood still, regarding the other with unreadable expressions. It was Irene, however that broke the silence. "Oi," She spoke. An entirely new tone of voice coated her words—the usual precursor for light banter. "Did you choose something yet? Or do I have to choose something for you?" Her brow rose slightly.

"No," Ralph released a faintly annoyed breath, answering both questions, as he stepped away from her, his eyes briefly scanning the shelves. He grabbed the first thing he saw that contained his favorite food—a bag of chocolate covered peanuts. Seemingly satisfied, Irene took them from him before approaching the counter. After paying for them and the woman had wrapped them more than was absolutely necessary, a familiar dark head passed by the window. It was just perceivable out of the corner of her eye, but Irene flinched in the slightest all the same. She peered cautiously towards Ralph behind her and was somewhat satisfied to see that he was too busy ogling the chocolaty samples of another display to have noticed.

After taking her purchase from the counter, she nudged the package into Ralph's grasp. "I'll be right back," she murmured quietly, to which he only replied with a vague nod. Her lips twitched in slight amusement at his obvious distraction before briskly walking towards the door. A quick look at the windows told her that the streets were currently emptied of the dark boy. She quietly slipped out of the shop.

Irene walked a little ways down the street, though not far from the building. The coolness of the air nipped at her skin. It seemed to have grown colder since their little escapade.

"Having fun with your boyfriend, Bradley?" A quiet voice resounded from close behind her. She could feel the prickly warmth of his breath and instantly recoiled. Her body was instantly skittish with his proximity. She hadn't even heard him coming behind her! Irene turned around quickly to face him. The wind ruffled Roger's dark hair, scattering his fringe above his eyes, casting a dark obscurity over the expression that lay there. She was somewhat startled, yet equally relieved to see that he was alone.

Irene flashed him a faux smile, her teeth showing beneath slightly curled lips. "Of course," She answered quickly, trying to hide the strange tightness of unease as it gripped her stomach. A tinge of fury glazed her mind at the 'boyfriend' comment. "Having fun with yours?"

Roger's eyes darkened. His body tensed, forcing himself into rigidity. It passed quickly, smoothly replaced by a sympathetic look; his eyes were now suddenly kind and somewhat mournful. "Why, Bradley… I have to admit, I'm a bit worried for you."

Irene frowned. "You hardly know me."

Roger remained unmoved, though his suddenly savage eyes glinted. "You're right. I don't. But I know who you're shagging. I know him _very_ well."

Irene pursed her lips. "First of all, I am not _shagging_ anyone." She sniffed, the cool autumn air burning her nostrils. "And secondly, I somehow I doubt that as well." Her voice was quieter, clearly less confident than before. Roger saw it and he pounced upon the opportunity, the corner of his lip lifting wickedly.

"Oh? How well do you really know him?"

Irene's stare faltered, wavered back towards the sweets shop before resting on the dark form before her. Inside, the doubt fluttered within her stomach. Her teeth clenched tightly beneath closed lips.

It was Roger's turn to laugh—low and delightful, though to Irene's ears, it held a slightly maddened quality to it that made her skin crawl. "That's what I thought… You don't know what you're playing with. You'd best go back to your other friends before you get hurt, just like everyone else around him." His tone took a nearly mocking turn—one that he used on unsuspecting younger ones that he so enjoyed toying with.

"Funny. You actually sound concerned." she spoke, dry sarcasm smearing her words. Her arms crossed tightly, almost protectively about her frame, warding off the icy breeze that now gripped her sides.

Roger smiled in a way that made her feel small. "Yes, that's it, Bradley. I'm so fucking concerned about you." In an unsuspecting instant, he closed the space between them, his face only millimeters from hers. Within his eyes rested a mixture of unbridled disgust and tranquility. Irene took a sharp breath, taking a quick, nervous step back. He grinned; his blood instantly pounded pleasantly with the look of fear and indecision that had flared across her face.

He continued; his speech unhindered as if nothing unusual had occurred. "Who wouldn't be concerned? Medevane's quite brutal when he wants to be. His mates have the tendency to get hurt when they least expect it. Though, don't let me stop you if you're _dying_ to be near him." He chuckled at this last statement, as if partaking in an enormously hilarious inside joke.

Irene only stared.

"Ever ask him what happened to the last one?" He said. Before she could barely even form a thought or react, he snorted, distinct and purposefully, like that of a pig. It was brief and nearly inaudible before his body quivered with wild, lurid laughter. Irene heard his strange swine imitation, though it only fostered the irritation within her already befuddled mind.

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about? You're mad!" Irene shouted at him, irritated color flared over her cheeks. Her confused expression quickly turned into that of a glare as she further scrutinized this strange boy.

Just then, the front door of the shop burst open, revealing a stoic faced Ralph. He instantly drew close to the two of them, his cautious eyes never leaving the dark boy as he stood next to Irene, his shoulder brushing ahead of hers. Irene shifted her body weight away. They stood like that for a while, time slipping past slowly, as the boys challengingly eyed each other. Irene tensed, feeling the thick tension between the two of them building into an uncomfortable pressure.

Roger's face remained impassive, though his eyes darted between Ralph and Irene. Not a hint of his facial muscles moved, refusing to reveal what was brewing within his thoughts. Something was bothering the hunter, though he couldn't quite name it. Something about Ralph's expression—something had clearly set him off. Well… more off than usual.

For a moment, Ralph's image flickered back to how he'd been when he was Chief. The mold that he had tried to fit into at the beginning… chastising Roger for letting the fire go out. Unlike Jack; however, Roger didn't care for Ralph's approval. Never did. Ralph bewildered him more than he liked to admit. Society always had. The best Roger could do was to play along, put on the best mask that he could, while playing the game only he wanted to play. He had only to perfect his most disarming smile in the mirror—as unnatural as the arrangement felt.

Irene's hand crept slowly towards the back of Ralph's arm until she took a steady hold over it. She pulled slightly, her eyes only on the side of his face until he broke from Roger's gaze; Ralph's eyes flickered over towards her. There was an unspoken agreement as they turned away from the dark boy and began to walk down the street before emerging within the alley that they had previously emerged from.

Roger only stared after them, his eyes blank. Several minutes passed until he heard a slight commotion from behind. From the way that he walked, he could immediately tell who it was.

"There you are… why are you all the way over here?" Jack inquired, a suspicious brow raised slightly. Roger barely acknowledged him as he turned around. His hands burrowed within his pockets as he meandered in the opposite direction that his targets of interest had went, barely missing Jack's shoulder as he passed him.

"No reason," he murmured, shadowed gaze ahead. Jack's jaw tightened with the vague answer. Something was going on. The only reason he even thought to accept Roger's offer of going into town with him was to figure out what exactly he was up to. So far, today felt like a total waste, the redhead silently fumed as he followed the Roger. He was still as much in the dark as he had been for the past three months. Not that he had been around that much in the past few months. His father made sure of that.

Things were going to change. Life only recently started to get interesting again. Jack's pale eyes fleetingly browsed the windows of the sweets shop as they passed by. His gaze connected with the older woman within as she cleaned the windows.

The setting sun beckoned its warmth away from the earth, slowly dipping even further from view.

.

.

.

* * *


	7. Catch and Bite

"_I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."_

_-Edgar Allen Poe_

* * *

_._

_._

_._

After parting from Irene on the lawn, Ralph soon found himself wandering down shadowed halls. It was later than he anticipated, and he was more than sure that most of the others were already in their beds. He wished that he could so easily accept sleep without the lingering of sinister promises. Ralph scowled as he continued walking. It was when he turned down the windowed corridor, one of the brightest whenever the moonlight filtered through; that the monotony of the pattern broke. An obscure shadow was crouched beneath the windows. It appeared to be in front one of the many crucifixes, weighing so heavily against the wall. Ralph drew in a bit closer, curious until stopping dead in his tracks.

Jack.

And he looked positively drained.

His uniform was wrinkled, the white sleeves of the collared shirt were pushed up to his elbows and the tie was hanging loose and undone. Wiry arms were perched steadily upon knees. His hands were almost lost within chaotic red hair as heavy, half-lidded eyes slowly inclined towards the floor.

"Jack," Ralph called out in a hushed tone. The redhead remained unmoved, currently dead to the world. Nothing in his statue-like state gave away any sign that he had heard anything. Sighing softly, Ralph set down his package against the wall before drawing closer to the seated figure. Crouching directly in front of him, mild fingertips met his pale forearm. "Jack," he repeated with a bit more volume.

He seemed to have stirred from whatever had a hold over him the moment he felt Ralph’s touch. Wincing, his eyes shot accusingly at Ralph. Glaring, Jack regarded the blonde that now looked at him with mild concern, which Jack only regarded as a slight upgrade from utter hatred. Turning his bitter gaze away, he leaned against the wall. He felt the swift urge to wound the appealing image before him, to say something nasty in an attempt to hurt him worse than how he had inexplicably hurt him at the chapel nights ago. Just like how Ralph used to on the island. So many bloody times.

Instead, war was waged against his vehemently divided mind. Jack wanted to hurt, to humiliate, and yet he also felt the intruding physical thrill at even being close to him, the side that had saved him from Roger in the pool, ultimately weakening his resolve to do anything cruel in that moment.

Stupid Ralph and his stupid swimmer's build. Begrudgingly, Jack rather liked what puberty had done to his rival since the island. His body now held a different shape but was still smooth. Maturation had been kind to him, offering less awkwardness and more of the envied form of an understated athlete.

‘And why am I even thinking of this?’ Jack inwardly griped. Why was he so damned attracted to this pathetic bloke? When would he stop invading his mind—seizing his thoughts—and when would he stop making him so bleeding horny? This is dangerous, certainly not how it was supposed to be. Clearly some heavy reminding was in order.

But… not now…

Jack was exhausted and clearly not in the mood. Especially after dealing with Roger today. This was the most time he’d spent with Roger in months, actually.

Jack could only mutter a hostile, short response in return. "What do you want?"

"Are you alright?" Ralph reached out and tested his forehead with the back of his hand, brushing aside the rusty fringe, completely unperturbed by Jack's brutal tone.

The chorister's breath caught a little in his throat, though he hid it well enough. He resisted the sudden urge to pin Ralph to the floor, to violate him. His fingers tightened at the thought as he felt his gaze drawn to Ralph's mouth. It had been so soft and yielding in the chapel—the memory of how it felt and tasted caused heat to pleasantly tease his insides. Jack did his best to suppress these ridiculous thoughts before they escalated.

No, he had to stay in control here.

Ralph looked down at Jack, oblivious to the other's internal conflict as he withdrew his hand. "You feel pretty warm."

Jack swallowed thickly before responding, his voice was hard, even sounding a bit conceited. "I'm fine."

"Whatever..." Ralph shrugged it off. A substantial pause lingered before Ralph's voice filtered through once more. "Mind if I sit here?"

Taking Jack's silence as an affirmative, he slowly lowered himself next to him on the floor, his back to the wall. He was rather close, though their shoulders didn't touch. Ralph's legs came close to his chest as he rested his arms over his knees. The silence continued to prevail. Both staring ahead.

‘Idiot. Do you actually trust me enough to actually sit by me…alone…in a dark corridor? Your instincts are still worth shit, apparently,’ Jack wanted to say, though his tight-lipped mouth refused to budge.

"Shouldn't you be getting sleep or something?" Jack said instead, trying his best to sound disinterested, merely thinking up an excuse to be rid of him. In actuality, he had noticed the dark circles with startling clarity beneath Ralph's eyes and gruffly wondered if anyone cared to notice or if they did, neglected to harass him into getting more rest. ‘Some stupid friends he's got,’ Jack silently stewed.

In response, Ralph involuntarily brought his knees closer to his chest, as if warding off an onslaught of something cold. Fair hair fell into his eyes as he peered down, his finger absent-mindedly tracing circles on the floor next to his shoe.

"I don't sleep much these days… You could say I never look forward to this part of the routine. I don't know what the hell to do with myself."

Jack offered a brief glance, hidden understanding touching his cold regard. "I guess that explains why you look so bloody tired all the time."

Ralph shifted, connecting with the blue gaze.

Jack continued on as he broke their eye contact, head inclined towards the wall once more. "I don't sleep much either. Never did since—" He stopped, clammy palms pressed tightly over the front of his trousers. He didn't want to finish the thought, though he was fairly sure that his listener knew what he was going to say.

This time, Ralph's eyes warmed over, glazed with a trace of sympathy. The thought had never truly crossed his mind that Jack was going through the same thing—or at least something similar. As twisted as it seemed, he felt better knowing that he wasn't the only one that suffered every night.

"I miss normalcy," Ralph muttered. He wasn't even aware that he was going to speak until he did on impulse. Jack looked at him with a slightly raised, incredulous brow.

Ralph blew out a slow exhale, "I miss living a normal life. I thought things would be okay once we got back… but they're not." His voice dwindled to a whisper. He felt sudden gnawing, discomfort at sharing such things with Jack of all people, but he knew with that simple glance from Jack that he understood his predicament, probably better than most others.

"Sorry," Jack breathed, barely audible, his eyes still studying the wall in front of him.

_Wait, why am I apologizing? I'm not sorry!_

Iron pride collided so heavily within Jack’s chest that he instantly wanted to take back his single worded response. And just as he looked at Ralph to do so, he sat motionless by the unexpected look on his face. He looked … open. But what caused the inner savage to drool was the fact that he looked vulnerable.

The idea of a submissive Ralph thrilled him. Thoughts of the other bloke finally yielding to him caused some of that former warmth to return, so he formulated. The old hunter within was supremely proud of the accidental lure, as an irresistible string of words were quickly crafted and laid out for the former chief. Jack had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from leering at his own unintended brilliance.

"I'm sorry... I think that you deserve it more than the rest of us… to have your life back." The velvet voice was clear. He hadn't known the effects of luring prey instead of just going straight for the kill in his earlier years. Well, now he knew.

On the receiving end, Ralph felt rather confused hearing that from Jack Merridew. He couldn't help but to stare at him, a little in disbelief and a little in surreal obligation.

"Jack?" he inquired, curious, perhaps softer than he normally spoke to him. Jack felt a pleasant flush at hearing Ralph say his name in that tone of voice. He wanted to hear him speak like that to him again. Jack slowly brought his now fervent gaze from the wall to Ralph's face, studying him as if he were an apparition that would suddenly evaporate into thin air. An apparition that he wanted to catch before it did.

Ralph noticed the intensity of Jack's scrutiny and remembered his forced affections in the chapel. Though the power behind them was still rather terrifying, he had trouble denying the fact that he felt a small, tight feeling from that experience that hadn’t dissipated afterwards. It was a tightness that was the usual herald to retching his guts out, though this time, it was dappled with something pleasant, one that refused to leave—and so it remained, continuing to baffle the hell out of him every time it surfaced liked the monster it was. Like the monster he really was.

However, the question of why Jack did it remained. And it tore at Ralph's rational mind. He knew that it wasn't right—that it was supposed to be immoral, something unspeakable, and yet he couldn't deny the hidden craving for that part of himself again. It felt eerily parallel to the night that he succumbed to his monstrous, nonsensical craving for Simon's blood. His insides cringed at the thought.

But he needed to know. Ralph summoned his determination, a remnant of his old self, in his desire to understand the warped mess that was Jack's mind. Or to at least have a glimpse of it. He looked at the chorister again, now harboring his signature stubborn gaze.

"Jack, I need to know why you kissed me." Ralph's voice started out strongly enough, though it grew steadily quieter by the end, as if even mentioning it was humiliating.

Jack was silent, allowing the quiet air to rest over them thickly. Jack’s eyes slid over toward Ralph, and although Ralph had difficulty in doing so, he stalwartly maintained the eye contact, as if it would force a response. The redhead's face was unnervingly empty of a definable expression as he reached up to lightly touch the side of Ralph’s cheek. Forcing himself not to flinch or pull away, Ralph continued to look at him, his eyes demanding an answer. Jack's laughed breathily as he drew closer, their faces so startlingly close, they could feel the other's steady hot breath.

Although the hallway was bathed in shadows, the moonlight caught Ralph in such a way that it reminded Jack of the night that he had left him at the chapel. Golden hair that had paled in the trickery of the moon’s light. Jack's smile widened, observing the stubborn way in which the Ralph set his jaw, determined in keeping his ground. It was so like him, that he couldn't help but to release another sound of amusement.

"You're beautiful," Jack whispered, his mouth closer still.

"W-What?" Ralph's eyes reflected bewilderment.

"Your hair, your eyes, your body—you're perfect," The hunter purred. Hooded eyes continued to stare, his mouth curled into his lazy grin. He was so close; Ralph felt an oncoming blush heat his face. All the while, his captor continued to murmur.

Ralph tried to ponder this silently, feeling only mounting confusion; though found the distracting proximity disrupting any clear thoughts. "H-How—" He faltered faintly before being cut off by Jack's voice.

"You never noticed," Jack's silken speech turned bitter. "You were too consumed by your rules and fire to notice. I tried to impress you with what I was good at." He tapered off briefly, his fingers softly taking Ralph’s chin, a gentle touch in blatant contrast to his hostile words. "Unfortunately, what I was good at repulsed you. That much was obvious. And I came to hate you for it." Jack remembered his envy and undefined desire for Ralph and how it quickly coincided with his lust for blood. _His_ blood in the end… an alternate solution for the turmoil he was feeling on the island.

"Even when we left… it never stopped." At this point, Ralph noticed Jack's eyes shift slightly to the side of his face, to the shadows of the corridor; a trace of something obscure plagued his expression as he began to relay his inner thoughts from the past. "And I thought that having blood— and attaining it at whatever cost would stop it. That having your blood would finally do away with you."

He felt Ralph flinch beneath his hand.

There was an elongated pause before he persisted. "I won’t lie... I really wanted it to be your blood… I wanted to end your life, if only to keep you away. Always challenging. Always persisting. Even when you weren't physically there. You're always there… Always. Bloody. There." Jack's mouth curved resentfully.

Ralph felt like he was holding his breath, trying and failing to understand the depth of this strange confession. And while he was frightened—frightened quite deeply, he also felt something else. Something unrelenting. A strange feeling with the thought that someone could hold something so intense for him—even if it _was_ completely alarming. Ralph had always believed himself to be so painstakingly average throughout his life, never honestly attributing himself to ever be capable of encouraging such a penetrating interest from anyone. And it shook him to have Jack of all people hold onto something so fierce. Because of him.

Jack's hand tightened slightly over Ralph's cheek as he drew closer, his eyes back to their cool, aloof assessment. "That's why—" Jack whispered, hot breath cascading over the prey's ear, "—I don't think I could've killed you. The world would've been much less interesting if you weren't in it."

He watched Ralph's face for a reaction, but only acquired his stare. One that was filled with shock, and doubt; though Jack thought he could detect something else within Ralph’s expression that he couldn't quite read.

From Ralph’s perspective, he couldn't move. He didn't know what to say. He remained locked in his thoughts, even with the suggestive closeness of their faces. Jack paused before pulling back to a respectable distance. Ralph felt unexpectedly cold and vacant when Jack’s fingers finally shifted away from his cheek. His body ached with a peculiar anticipation, and Ralph suddenly found that his skin itched for touch... as much as he didn't want to admit it... as much as his good and civilized side protested. Ralph’s face shifted to look at Jack once more with this realization. He felt the simultaneous collision of embarrassment and something entirely too shameful for him to acknowledge as it curdled deep within.

Jack on the other hand felt increasingly stupid as the frozen moment wore on.

Jack burned with impatience. He was somewhat annoyed with himself that he had mixed in the truth with his illusory persuasion, laid himself bare with honest words and all he got in response was the blonde’s quiet stiffness. Usually Jack excelled at deciphering a person, but found much to his annoyance, that it was proving to be increasingly difficult with Ralph. Almost like how it was with a girl.

He exhaled harshly, not willing to take it any longer, his icy eyes profoundly irritated. "Say something," Jack hissed.

_‘Get away from him! He's insane! Didn't you hear what he just said?’ _Ralph tried to reason with himself, but his body had already betrayed him. His heart felt like it skipped a beat as he instantly without thought or hesitation uttered his faint, broken whisper, "Show me."

Despite Jack’s anticipation, he still felt somewhat dumbstruck by what Ralph had just said, though sharp instincts gave him prompt reaction time as he processed this. Before Ralph could think further on what he had just said, Jack crashed his triumphant, hungry mouth hard against his. Ralph gasped as he felt his starving lips, causing Jack to smirk against him. This was so wrong and yet it had to audacity to feel so deliciously good.

Ralph reciprocated the hard movement with his own awkward mouth. The chorister released a needy sound when he felt the blond responding, or at least trying to respond to him. With that, Jack ruthlessly pried his soft mouth open as he skillfully slipped his tongue alongside Ralph’s lips and eventually, between them. Ralph made a slight sound as he felt the heat of Jack’s tongue, as his own timidly attempted to reciprocate, as all of this was relatively new. The sensation he got from the simple touch was so foreign and pleasant, his mind was immediately bathed in a warm, thick haze.

One of Jack's hands hooked behind his neck, while the other ran down his torso. Amusement fluttered beneath his skin upon feeling Ralph's tongue push against his. Jack pushed back even harder, enjoying the little skirmish for control. He didn't expect any less. Not from him.

Nothing was decided in their struggle as Ralph's fingers tangled harshly Jack's hair. He pulled as he felt his lungs beginning to burn for air. Jack reluctantly complied; a hint of saliva on Ralph’s bottom lip as he retreated. They panted in the otherwise silent corridor.

Ralph was still attempting to catch his breath as he felt Jack's mouth proceed down his jaw and throat. Breath remained rapid, noticing the subtle sounds that the chorister was making, sucking at his skin with the edge of tenacious teeth and lips. Ralph’s breath hitched and his fingers gripped more harshly at Jack when he felt him bite at a sensitive area between his neck and shoulder.

"You like that, huh?" Jack’s voice was a on a thin line between mocking and humored as he placed another open-mouthed kiss where he’d just bitten him. Ralph's only response was tightening his fingers within Jack's hair.

Jack didn’t stop until he noted that he’d left quite a prominent mark over his neck—a lovely little claim over his quarry. One that he had wanted to make for a while now. Ralph was fast turning into a bundle of sensitive nerves as Jack repeatedly attacked him at the base of his throat. Jack slowed after a time, soothing the aggravated skin over with a slow press of his tongue, finally satisfied with his brutal handiwork.

Jack shook with a silent, wicked chuckle, imagining Ralph’s discovery of it in the morning.

Retreating his head just enough to see Ralph's expression, his brow now glistened lightly with sweat as did his lips, swollen with his rough, wet mouth. His eyes were wild and alert as he observed Jack's expression, whom seemed rather smug with his deed.

Ralph's hands lowered from his hair to the back of his neck. Pulling Jack closer, he was rewarded with another kiss. Jack took the lead, patiently and wordlessly tutoring Ralph on what to do. Jack's thoughts took a dark turn as he envisioned all the things that he wanted to teach him, now that he was hopelessly ensnared beneath his fingertips. His hands, playing at innocence, once again trailed to the front of Ralph's shirt, distractedly fingering the hem.

The two of them barely noticed the light rhythm of faraway feet slowly approaching where they were in the corridor. Ralph was the first to come to his senses and swiftly tugged at the back of Jack's shirt, alerting him. Their kiss ended prematurely. Jack quickly moved away from him, still pressed against the wall. Jack stood and Ralph rapidly got to his feet just as the footsteps grew louder. Quickly remembering his package, Ralph grabbed it and held it under one arm. They hurriedly left down the corridor opposite of the resounding footfalls. They twisted wordlessly down a few more passages before Ralph found his room. He approached his door, barely acknowledging the fact that Jack still trailed him.

The longer that Ralph was now in a somewhat sane frame of mine, the more regret began to filter into his body. His gut wrenched with what he had done, and he knew that he needed to be rid of Jack, unless he wanted more regret to bloom at the bit of his stomach. Stopping abruptly, Ralph opened his door quietly. He set the packaged chocolate on the desk to the side of his door and was startled to see that Jack was attempting to follow him through the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Ralph hissed, pushing Jack back out into the corridor. Probably harder than was necessary, which he ignored.

"Coming in," Jack replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world... which it sort of was. Ralph chose to ignore that as well. Even though it was dark, he knew exactly which devious expression the chorister wore.

"No, you're not," Ralph replied with a fierce whisper, tightly fisting the front of Jack's shirt, ensuring in the darkness that he wasn't making any further movement towards his door.

"Is this how you treat your guests?" Jack asked, his amused lips twitched. Ralph sighed, exasperated.

"It's the middle of the night and there's school tomorrow." Jack chuckled softly as his face drew close, warm breath cascading over his face.

"Are you implying—" Jack whispered adjacent to his ear, "—that I would keep you up all night?"

"N—No," He said. "I—I just really need to get sleep." He was cut off immediately when he felt the edge of Jack's teeth against the outer shell of his ear and then a slick tongue followed soon. Ralph stiffened in the tickling warmth as it twisted his gut.

Jack spoke again. "So I would keep you from sleep, hmm?" Ralph silently cursed the chorister as his fisted hand loosened before finally releasing Jack's shirt altogether.

"Shut up," Ralph said without much gusto as an uncomfortable heat poured through him, awkward confusion drowning his thoughts. He saw Jack's face withdraw just enough so that they were now face to face before suddenly leaning even closer. Quickly turning his face in blatant rejection, Jack's mouth only managed to brush the side of his face.

"Not here!" The panicked blonde hissed, hastily stepping back. Jack grunted with instant displeasure, a hint of his timeworn, younger self surfacing before it just as quickly dissolved.

"Then, I will see you later…" he said.

Before Ralph could reply, he left, disappearing within the shadows of the hallway without another noise. His prowling capabilities must have never left him, Ralph thought, trying not to feel the weight of ugly memories. He quickly closed the door.

He began to peel off his clothing before quickly replacing them with nightclothes, all the while feeling suddenly famished. All those skipped meals must have finally caught up with him, he pondered agitatedly before taking some chocolate from the package. He ate a quarter of it before succumbing to heavy weariness, one that quickly enveloped his body. A suddenly drowsy Ralph crept into his bed and the sleep was nearly instant.

The nightmares didn't come.

Or at least, Ralph wouldn't exactly call it a nightmare.

It started out nearly the same, though it began to differ when it came to the part where Jack caught him, pinning him down hard against the hot island sand, burning his back. The leering hunter leaned over to silence him, though not through the spilling his blood, but by smothering his mouth, throat, and body with an open and hungry mouth.

To his own horror, Ralph found himself panting, wanting, and completely held captive by his touch as it engraved wet patterns into his flesh. His traitorous fingers brought his body closer to the tanned, sweltering skin that continued to hover above his. Sun-stained fingers created grooves down his back, glazed with perspiration. Jack pressed down against Ralph's hard body with his. He heard quiet laughter as he closed his lids.

"Tell me what you want," He felt Jack's hot breath against his face.

"More…" Ralph breathed, his entire body tightened when he felt Jack's hips against his, creating friction. "More…" Ralph repeated, his slightly elevated voice now shaking.

Sinner.

Traitor.

The savage's soft laughter still rung in his ears as he was startled into wakefulness. Unwilling eyes opened to the harsh morning light spilling in through his blinds, bouncing against the dull color of the ceiling. Ralph slowly sat up, his head still buzzing from the dream. He felt his pulse throb within his ears. The memories from the night before assaulted his poorly waking brain, causing him to curiously finger his still swollen mouth, feeling both dazed and somewhat disgusted with himself that it had actually occurred. And with it came the sudden and wrathful heat of shame.

He shouldn't be doing this! Especially with Jack. He couldn't be trusted.

As Ralph made a move to disentangle himself from his covers, shame turned into horror when he felt the wetness between his legs.

Oh no… I didn't… He did_. _

Ralph felt nauseated as he shifted his legs to the side of his bed as he sat up. Definitely sticky. Groaning, he brought his red face into his hands, feeling both mortified and exceedingly uncomfortable with the fact that he had just had a true wet dream… about Jack.

No. Fucking. Way.

Wanting to get rid of the incriminating evidence straightaway, he sullenly changed pants, trying to ignore the accusatory voices within his head while tossing the soiled clothing into the hamper. Running a hand frantically through his messy hair, he realized that he had neglected to take a shower the night before, given the unexpected distractions. Grumbling, he cursed the putrid morning thus far before gathering his towel and shower things before leaving the room, quickly making his way through congested corridors.

Most of the boys he passed ignored him, though some from his classes smiled in recognition. Others gave him completely odd looks, somewhere between amusement and slightly nodding their heads, scandalous approval lighting their eyes.

What are they staring at?

Ralph was a little miffed by the few peculiar expressions, though tried not to let it bother him as he opened the door to the washroom. Upon stripping, he was aware of a few more sidelong glances, though pointedly ignored them as he turned the showerhead on. His shower was quick and hot, seeing as he always tended to feel half frozen most of the time. He supposed that it was partly because it really was getting cooler, considering that winter was fast approaching, but he always felt like his body ran at naturally frigid temperatures. He always had to be moving, always doing something to get his blood pumping just to feel normal.

Finished, he turned off the water and quickly toweled himself dry, frustratingly catching a few more glances his way. Hearing a quiet snicker to his left, he looked over at the boy and caught him openly grinning at him. Ralph glared back, feeling his teeth grit beneath tight lips, annoyance written across his face. The boy's grin only grew wider. Pulling his pants and trousers on, he made his way to the sinks.

He readied his toothbrush. Glancing up at the mirror overhead, he nearly dropped it into the porcelain sink over what he observed in the slightly clouded reflection. He saw himself—less haggard than usual—staring back, greatly startled; a large and angry looking bruise blossomed at the base of his throat, exactly over the area that Ralph blushingly remembered an aggressive mouth. The distinct shape and pattern of the purpled skin could tell even the least worldly person exactly how it got there.

He did it on purpose, that bastard! He suddenly remembered with startling clarity the smug look that Jack gave him after finally withdrawing from him. Ralph's cheeks flushed with resentment as his eyes traveled to the stained, tender skin. The dark color of the mark was prominent against his steadily paling complexion.

‘This is going to be hard to hide…’ Ralph thought with growing distress.

Of course it wouldn't go unnoticed by passing students. His blood drained at the thought of it being seen by the teachers and transient administration through the halls. He would surely get in some sort of trouble. Knuckles whitened as he vigorously cleaned his teeth, fresh energy bursting beneath fuming skin.

He got out of the washroom as quickly as possible, avoiding further glances from the others. As soon as he once again concealed within the safety of his room, he fumbled into the school uniform, again having trouble with the stupid tie. Peering nervously at the small mirror hanging in his room, his mind scrambled, unsure of what the hell he was supposed to do. Breakfast was going to start in fifteen minutes and the top half of the bruise was still visible beneath the collar of his shirt. Quickly making his way to the window, he peered at a couple of students walking about the lawn, towards the main building. Relaxing somewhat at the clammy temperature outside, he noticed some students wearing their scarves.

Good enough, he deliberated. Just after shouldering into the blazer, his frantic hand snatched a scarf along with his book bag before finally heading out the door.

…

Ralph was surprised to find that he actually had an appetite this morning, though wasn't exactly thrilled to learn that they were having the spongy eggs and bacon again. He eyed the bacon distastefully. He had long ago sworn off ever eating anything that came from that horrible animal ever again. And he had been good to his silent vow ever since. His objecting gut, however, forced him to grab some porridge and fruit before turning around to find his seat.

He found Irene sitting by herself at their usual table, almost not recognizing her with her hair down, all loose and tumbling past nimble shoulders. When she saw him, her lips curved into a greeting smile. Just as he sat next to her, he was taken slightly aback by her leaning over to quickly peck his cheek. It was calm and civilized, worlds apart from what Jack had done to him the night before.

She was settled in her seat before anyone took notice. With quickly enflamed cheeks, her nervous, yet resolute eyes met his, as if she had been working up the courage to do that all morning. Ralph couldn't help feeling strangely pleased before boldly touching a lock of her loose hair, feeling its silkiness between his fingers. He couldn't stop staring at it and resisted the bizarre urge to bury his nose within the soft mass.

"Your hair," he spoke, almost questioningly as he forced himself to let go, his fingers tapered off towards the ends before releasing it.

"Uh… yes," Irene voiced, her facing heating up even more so as she placed her hands over her lap. "I didn't feel like doing it today."

"I like it," Ralph said, a little too quickly in his attempt to sound casual, trying to mask the odd fixation that was rabidly developing. He had no idea that something so common could make him feel so bothered. And no matter how stupid he felt for thinking something like that, the revelation made him see her even more contrarily than he already did. More as an appealing female and less as a simple friend. In the crowded room, however, he had to be content with a trivial response, and settled to taking her hand closest to him from her lap. Beneath the safety of the table, his fingers curled over hers. Irene smiled furtively.

They released their hold and started to eat just as Eric arrived at the table, his face plagued by a glum expression. Ralph didn't even seem to notice that Eric was alone as he continued to eat. Irene, however, looked up immediately towards him, practically feeling the discontentment.

"What's wrong, Eric?" Irene asked. "And… where's Sam?"

"That's precisely it," Eric expelled, glowering down at the table. Ralph looked up from his tray at the brittle tone, as if just noticing Eric for the first time. "He's over there with Miss Cleeves." He said her name formally, though as if she were a new classification of scum. It took Ralph a bit longer to realize that he had meant Cynthia—the raven-haired girl whom many boys talked about.

Eric spoke again. "And what's more is that I haven't seen him practically all of yesterday and he was gone all night."

"All night?" Irene repeated, her eyes widened.

"I hear that she has quite the filthy reputation," Eric muttered, his tone was the most brutal that the blonde had ever heard him use. Ralph examined him closely, while Irene blushed.

"Well it's not your choice… so why do you care so much?" Ralph asked. He took a large bite from his apple. Irene looked over at him, suddenly aware that he was actually eating without her constant prompts.

"Because it's _Sam_ we're talking about here," Eric muttered, his expression remained dark. "He would never be stupid enough to fall for a manipulative girl like her. What if she's coercing him?"

"You would know a lot about coercion, wouldn't you?" Ralph muttered casually, completely unaware that he was about to say something so bitter.

Silence.

Ralph's eyes widened just a bit, instant regret filling him. The twin shifted uncomfortably; his face drained of its previous brooding and filtered with humiliation. Ralph turned away; blue-grey eyes briefly hid beneath lids before finally looking back at Eric.

"I'm sorry…" Ralph spoke carefully. "I didn't mean…"

"Yes you did," Eric cut him off. The blonde had half expected his voice to reflect the same bitter hurt that he had just revealed, yet the twin's tone wasn't unkind, just quietly beaten. "And I don't blame you.” He looked morosely at the table. "And I'm not asking that of you." A hint of wetness escaped Eric’s eyes, which he quickly wiped away with an embarrassed grimace.

Now Ralph felt downright awful. Irene only looked on in utter confusion, though soon kept her eyes to her tray, not wishing to intrude. Sighing quietly, Ralph finally stood up and sat right next to Eric. They were silent for a moment longer before his hand tentatively touched the twin's slouched back, slowly moving back and forth, like how his mum used to do when he was little. Though, of course, he was trying to be infinitely more discreet about it.

"I'm really am sorry, Eric," Ralph murmured. "It wasn't right for me to have said that…" Before the blond could go further, Eric turned and suddenly threw his arms around him. Ralph tried to fight his immediate urge to peel him off along with the embarrassed flush that rose to his face. He moved uncomfortably against Eric, only half-heartedly pulling away as he hesitantly reciprocated the hug, ignoring the few passersby that cast curious glances towards them.

"So weak…" Eric sniffled against him, probably getting his shirt wet, Ralph observed as he continued to awkwardly touch his back.

"I know…" Ralph mumbled beneath his breath, sporting a scant glare at a few of the boys at the nearest table that were clearly amused by this display.

"Sorry," Eric's muffled voice rose from his slumped form. At the growing ludicrousness of the emotional breakdown, Ralph's chest vibrated slightly with badly-stifled, somewhat silent laughter. He finally pulled Eric away, regarding the mildly red eyes as they stared back at him.

"C'mon, pull yourself together. It'll be fine, yeah?" Ralph pulled a small smile for him. Eric managed a reluctant nod.

"Well, well… what's going on here?" Roger's voice brought them back to the reality of the excruciatingly crowded cafeteria. Eric's eyes were instantly mortified, instantly remembering things better left in the dark. Things that usually accompanied that tone of voice.

"I didn't realize you were such a consoler, Ralphie. Do you give your services out for free?" Roger's voice was softly mocking as he wore his smug, rapacious grin. From the corner of his eyes he noticed several students turning to now openly stare at the exchange.

"Shut it, Roger!" Ralph lurched from his seat, instantly up against the instigator. There was no way in hell that he was going to take this from Roger in front of practically the entire school.

The dark teenager's eyes were pleased. His hunter's body began to stir with warm anticipation. "Want me to finish what I started yesterday, little swine? I'd so love to hear you squeal." Roger's soft, throaty chuckle followed. Ralph felt the blood rush to his face as his fists tightened.

To the side of his peripheral vision, he noticed a glint of familiar red. Before he could respond, he felt someone push him back from the dark boy, driving them apart with his body as he stood facing Roger. Of course, it just had to be Jack. Fan-fucking-tastic. Ralph's face only reddened even further at the sight of him.

"Are you sodding deaf, Roger? Did you hear or remember anything we talked about?" Jack said, his voice low, eyes glinting. So obviously displeased over the close way that the hangman was looming over what he considered to be his.

Roger frowned at Jack, moving steadily closer to the redhead's stance. "I won't touch him as long as you keep a shorter leash. He's messing with mine. I saw it." He pointed out accusingly, the obviously livid voice grew low.

Ralph only grew more confused and somewhat baffled that the choristers were talking as if they were things, possessions. And was Roger referring to Eric? Ralph stole a curious glance at the nearby twin's blanched face as he also viewed this peculiar conversation. He felt his own grow cold.

"I am nobody's thing," Came Ralph's vehement protest.

"Stay out of this!" Jack snapped.

"I'm already in this! You're the one that just came in out of nowhere!" Ralph shot back. Even if he had no bloody clue as to what was going on.

Just then, society decided to intervene. The cafeteria supervisors finally clued in that there was an escalating problem within the vicinity. A couple of the faculty approached their group.

"I suggest that everyone break this up unless you'd all like to serve a lunchroom detention." One of the male supervisors warned.

Grudgingly, the obediently silent choristers filed back towards their table on the far side of the room while Ralph once again took his seat next to Irene. There was a lengthy pause while Eric nervously poked at his food and Ralph resumed eating, remembering and finding his appetite before the interruption.

"What was that all about?" Irene finally broke the silence when she saw that no one else was going to do it, her gaze apprehensive as it darted hesitantly between Eric and Ralph.

Trying his best at a casual shrug, the blonde felt the unwelcome tension settle between his shoulders. "I'm just about as confused as you are," he muttered, only half lying, as he paid close attention to the table.

Eric barely moved and opted to say nothing. Cautiously glancing over at the chorister's table, Ralph wasn't too surprised to see that Jack was staring at him. The intensity at which the chorister leaned forward and through the covetous way that he monitored him, Ralph almost thought that he looked, well, possessive.

His blood immediately boiled at the thought, remembering the mark on his neck. ‘And this _thing_ that he gave me—what's that supposed to be?’ He stabbed viciously at his food.

Ralph silently fumed over Roger’s implication as to how the choristers viewed them. His eyes narrowed; insides still bristling furiously at being viewed as nothing short of an object—an interesting little game piece, apparently by both Jack and Roger.

"Irene," Ralph said, his eyes were still downcast, idly spooning his porridge against the sides of the bowl. His voice was oddly calm in contrast to the blazing thoughts trudging through his mind.

"Hmm?" She looked up at him.

"Um—well—during free time today would you like to go on a walk with me?" Ralph asked, furtively glancing over toward Jack. Irene small smile steadily grew.

"Well seeing as I didn't have to remind you to eat today, I'll go," she said.

"Uhh… oh," Ralph mumbled, looking down at his nearly eaten tray. Nudging him playfully, her fingers found his hand again beneath the table.

"I'm joking. I'd love to go with you."

Ralph relaxed; his eyes briefly flickered over toward Jack once more, satisfied to see that he was still watching. Slowly, with irked purpose, he brought her hand above the table. Irene blushed, though didn't pull away when he casually brought her hand close to his mouth, modestly brushing his lips against her skin before presenting an offhand smile.

Let him see.

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* * *


	8. Sweet Treachery

_"A shred of hope, a little bit of sweetness – anything please, except for defeat. If I could, I'd lock you up and toss out the key. It's just you and me."_

_-The Hush Sound_

_._

_._

_._

Ralph felt a small surge of appreciation towards nature and the fact that he could rely on it to be cold every time October rolled around. Dependable. So inanely predictable.

Thoughts continued to flit about as he tightened the scarf over his neck, feeling the unwelcome, tender reminder of exactly how Jack had touched him. A little mark of ownership. Ralph felt an increasing sense of being filthy with the memory over what Roger had implied him to be. And, of course, how Jack had failed to say anything to the contrary.

Sick bastards.

Ralph continued to noiselessly fume as he dug chilled hands deeper within his coat. He should have never been so open with Jack. Never should have believed his allegedly sincere words. Shivers teased at his spine with the other memories he was trying to push aside. Wetting dry lips, he tried not to think further upon how Jack tasted. One that only served to further blacken his mood.

He waited by the stream that ran near the school, close to town. He had to cross the faculty and student car park. It looked deserted enough, so he hoped that Irene would get by without any unnecessary hassle. This was the first time that he had technically been off the school grounds without signing out.

The fair-haired teenager leaned precariously against the railing of the bridge over the small waterway, heeding the sound of the trickling water and to the carefree breeze as it wafted through deadened trees, now stripped of their autumn gold. He despised the in-between stage of autumn and winter, where the world momentarily looked about as cheery as a graveyard. Perfect for the spirit of Halloween, which was fast approaching.

"Ralph!"

He jerked his head towards the car park where Irene's voice had drifted through. She hurried towards him onto the bridge, a little breathless. Her cheeks slightly rosy by the numbing air. Like Ralph, she had bundled up a bit with her coat and scarf along with a thick pair of leggings.

"You can really smell the frost," she rubbed her hands together as she moved closer, instantly drawn toward his body heat. "I don't mind, though. I love winter."

"How so?" Ralph asked as he watched her pull herself up from behind onto the bridge's ledge; her feet dangled as she sat, swinging to-and-fro, an almost rhythmic sway with the gentle wind.

"Well—" she began lightly. Ralph came to stand in front of her, her knees barely touching his hips. "You have Christmas, of course… then there's New Year's… and being on holiday… and everyone gets to see their families…" She slowed when she tried to think of something else. "… and snow," she concluded with a warm smile, her face the image of childlike satisfaction with her list.

Ralph shifted closer as she spoke, as if he could absorb some of that innocence. Seeing this, she scooted back further on the ledge, moving her knees a little wider so that he could stand between them. His hands rested on the wood ledge on each side of her, feeling the dryness of the cracks upon it, laden with parched age.

"I used to like winter," he muttered.

"Used to?" She asked. Her hand innocently touched a stubborn tuft of his hair that kept tumbling out of place each time the wind stirred. He paused, distracted, tensing the muscles within his forearms as he continued to grip the bridge's ledge.

"Yeah… well, it's just me and my dad now… so you could probably imagine what that's like." He shrugged.

"Well you'll be with us for Christmas this year," Irene said, trying her hand at optimism. "Personally, I'm glad. It can get so boring being an only child. And all my extended family members are so… old. There's not much fun to be had there."

"Same with me," Ralph said with a small laugh. He paused. "Except they're not necessarily old. They just hate me." Irene's gaze became hard, noting the careless tone in his voice. Like it didn't matter.

"What? Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's true."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating? Hate's a strong word."

Here, Ralph hesitated, careful thought taking over his expression. "Well, I suppose they don't _hate_ me… but it's still far from being liked."

Irene’s eyebrow rose slightly. "It can't be that bad. What did you do to them?"

"Nothing."

"Well why don't they like you, then?"

Ralph laughed, though there wasn't any genuine humor behind it. "I don't know… because I was born?" He shifted his weight, trying not to notice the brunette's disturbed expression. "My mum wasn't supposed to marry my dad. They eloped. So, I guess they disowned her or something. I've never met them."

"Oh." Irene's voice was soft as she lowered her gaze. Sometimes she just didn't know when to stop. When to not cross a boundary when it really wasn't any of her business. The warmth of shame colored her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

Ralph shrugged again, looking every bit unaffected by it. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

Either way, he was a bit distracted.

Continuing his assessment of Irene, he found himself mesmerized by her mouth and how she kept wetting them with the tip of her tongue whenever the cold air became restless, assaulting their exposed faces. They were already close, so he leaned forward. Feeling the weight of his stare, Irene watched, knowing exactly what he was wordlessly asking for. Feeling brief hesitation, she met him in the middle.

When their cold mouths touched, everything around them felt still, unnervingly watchful and terse. The contact was slow. A certain sweetness lined their movements, subtle and warm. Ralph’s fingers touched her cheek, bringing her in for another. Fingers tangled in his hair, pulling as she molded her soft body against the hardness of his, and he caught the scent of lilac perfume. He smiled against her mouth and Irene pulled away.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked, mock offense coating her words. The slight curve of her mouth was giving her away. Ralph exhaled an amused breath before feeling oddly solemn. Surveying the dark eyes staring back at him, her waving hair and soft features. His thumb gently grazed her lower lip that was cold and dry, now warm and moist. As if he had just breathed life into them.

"You," Ralph whispered nervously, feeling the air leak from his lungs as he looked at her. A strangely pleasant, almost painful feeling curled in his chest.

Irene pulled him into a tight embrace, hiding her eyes from him. She gritted her teeth in a pained frown as laid her cheek on his shoulder within their embrace, facing the end of the bridge that lead away from the school.

Ralph, on the other hand, abruptly felt that something was off. Confused and mildly self-conscious, he tested his voice, breaking the stillness. "Irene, are you okay?" Her face tightened when she heard him, though quickly pulled herself together as they reluctantly broke their grip upon each other.

"You know… you don't have to call me that…" Irene said. She felt a small spark of amusement in regarding his confused face before speaking again. "Most people call me Rene… well, people I'm close with."

Ralph grinned slightly before trying it out. "Ok, Rene."

"Much better," Irene smiled contentedly, though the grief that struck her seconds ago still pricked her insides and clotted sickeningly within her stomach.

Another gust of wind—which had been steadily growing in strength as time wore on—sung through the atmosphere. It ruffled their hair and pulled at their clothes, aiming to steal the trapped warmth beneath their coats. Irene crossed her arms tightly about her chest after jumping down from the ledge as Ralph pushed his hands deep within his coat pockets.

"We should be heading back. It's almost time for supper." She sighed, immediately disinclined to return at all. It was nice to have the breaks outside of school, even if they were brief and not necessarily allowed.

She feared that she would go mad if the Halloween weekend didn't come sooner.

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Maurice James and Bill Atherton gathered on the edge of the car park, close to where their group used to congregate at several times whenever they wished to meet in private. Where they didn't have to act like the choirboy angels that society thought them to be. It felt strange to finally meet as a group again. Strange that it was Jack who had called for a meeting after cutting off nearly all contact from them during the summer and part of the beginning school year—even Roger. Bill smacked his gum loudly as Maurice shifted his weight, frequently glancing across the lawn, hoping to catch a glimpse of their former chief and the hangman coming along anytime soon.

Neither commented on the fact that there was now so few of them left.

"Seen Robert lately?" Maurice asked, trying to pass the time.

Bill nodded; his eyes averted. "He's in bad shape. Something's wrong with him… I don’t what to do, though."

Maurice looked away, gnawing at his lip, though not enough to break the skin. He wasn't sure what had gotten to the others either. The ones that got taken away by the adults, carted away like damaged wares. The kind that no one ever bothered to repair, much less even wanted.

The two straightened immediately, noticing the stalking forms of Jack and Roger. They drew closer to each other; the radiation of their combined body heat grew as they enclosed their small circle. Despite their dwindling numbers, they still held a decent amount of control.

Maurice and Bill unknowingly mimicked each other in their silent reverence of Jack, though were disconcerted over the slight disarray of his appearance. There were shadows beneath his eyes—ones that weren't there a few days ago. Regardless, he strode forward with a self-assurance that usually came across as conceited, clearly superior. Roger looked his usual self, his movements penetrating and swift, while his expression divulged that he was faintly amused.

They were silent as they acknowledged each other. There were no smiles—no other sign of recognition other than a look of secrecy that passed between their eyes, a dark commonality that they shared, buried deep within the confines of their souls. Some carried it with a seed of concealed smugness, while others simply accepted it with grave simplicity.

Jack looked at each of the remaining stragglers, still feeling an odd sense of responsibility over them, despite the length of time that had passed. And it was with this remembered sentiment that he had Roger gather them together at their old meeting spot.

"There's going to be an event," Jack finally stated, not resisting the slight curve of his lip. The others followed suit and reflected their silent encouragement over the idea. They knew their part. They were going to invite nearly everyone at the school.

"About time," Maurice spoke in a quiet voice. He flashed him a grin, showing his teeth. Their tradition of having a get-together to start of the school year had been ignored last month. For a while, he was starting to think that Jack had finally elected to abandon them.

"When is it going to be?" Bill piped up.

"This Friday. My place. You know what to do." Jack answered, watching their smiles widen. The coming Friday was also this year's designated Halloween—and to have it in Jack's family's venue only made it that much more interesting. Jack had a feeling that there was going to be many students leaving for the weekend to 'see their families', the usual excuse.

Jack eyes lifted, noticing the sky beginning to darken, the days now growing shorter. It was their usual signal that they needed to leave. Brief as it was, they broke apart without further words being exchanged. Roger followed Jack's footsteps while Maurice and Bill immediately ambled towards the school. Before following suit, pale eyes were drawn to the end of the car park where he spotted a shade of pale gold belonging to a certain familiar someone who was also making their way towards the school. Jack nudged Roger, who immediately followed his line of sight.

"What do you want to do?" Roger questioned; his dark eyes scrutinized the former leader. He could tell by the way that Jack's eyes gleamed that he was pondering something wicked. And he wanted in.

Jack felt a tight scowl form on his face when he noticed that Irene Bradley was trudging along with the fair-haired boy. She was too close behind him for his liking. He remembered what Ralph did during breakfast. Jack was far from naïve. He knew that it was meant for him to see, which is what caused his blood to boil.

Instead of showing his true colors in the moment, Jack planted a lazy smile over his sharp features as he silently began to make his way towards the pair, planning to cut them off before they even left the car park.

"Follow me," Jack said without turning to face the dark boy behind him. Roger obeyed, moving as soundlessly as his chief. His grin betrayed the excitement that he held for the return of a familiar thrill. One that was exclusively reserved for the hunt.

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Ralph led the way, listening to the fall of Irene's gait to ensure that she wasn't far behind. Just as they were about to touch the grass, two sleek, dark figures emerged from behind the car parked nearest to them, effectively blocking off their route back to school.

Ralph and Irene almost visibly jumped. Irene clasped onto one of Ralph's arms. Upon recognizing the figures and notable hair colors of Jack and Roger, she loosened her grip, feeling instantly stupid at her overreaction. Ralph further tensed; however, and gripped at Irene, forcing her to stay where she was behind him. He kept himself as the only barrier between her and the two choristers. Irene stared at Jack and Roger with their off-hand smiles, feeling more confused than on edge.

His hand tightened almost painfully over Irene's as he glared at them. "What do you want?" His voice was as hard as his frown. The corner of Roger's mouth moved marginally as Jack continued with his smiling front.

"How have you been, Ralph?" His voice was pleasant and lustrous as he eyed both Ralph and Irene. "We didn't get the chance to properly speak to you after this morning.” Jack's smile widened when he saw Ralph's expression begin to morph from iron-clad purpose to mild confusion.

"I'd rather have you ignore me," Ralph muttered.

Jack disregarded his words as he continued. "We would like for you to come to the party we're having this Friday night. It's going to be at my place. You'll find it easy enough if you ask around. It's hard to miss."

Ralph had heard word of these so-called parties that the former hunters occasionally threw—most likely just to reassert their dominance over the others. Through the rumors, he had heard that they were notorious for people going there simply to get plastered for free, and to indulge in things that they would probably never do sober.

Jack took advantage of Ralph's moment of blank silence and cocked his head over towards Irene, who had managed to come more into view without Ralph's detection. "Of course, you are welcome to come as well, Bradley."

Ralph looked back towards Jack, noticing that his voice changed in the slightest as he spoke to her. It sounded both forceful and held a trace of mechanical sophistication as if he were purposefully mimicking someone. "I'm sure everyone would just _love_ having you there."

Irene peered at the ground, suddenly biting her lip. Ralph oddly felt like the foreign outsider for a moment and immediately detested it. He released her hand and brought his hand behind her, gently touching her back as he brought his eyes to the choristers.

"I don't think we'll be joining you, Merridew," Ralph spoke. Even so, he felt that his rejection for the invite had come out much more civil than how he really would have liked to have refused him.

In that moment, an intense, scathing expression crossed Jack's sharp features. It was gone in a moment, but it left Ralph internally shivering with the memory of the last time Jack had given him that look. The moment after Piggy's death, launching that spear at him. The moment of intense enmity that had forever left him with a scar. Even so, Ralph refused to back down—even when he was the only one left that had dared to do resist amidst the torched island. He had thought that it was going to be his final act, defending his civility, the fractured morality.

The only one that has ever dared to struggle against him and he's still the only one that ever has. Blue eyes slid over towards Ralph—a tumultuous mixture of admiration and loathing for the thing that refused to bend.

"Well Bradley, what do you say?" Roger turned his eyes on her. His expression was so mild, it almost looked playful. A small, unpleasant tingling traveled up Irene's spine as she looked at the dark boy shadowing Merridew.

"I'll have to think about it," Irene muttered. Jack and Ralph both looked at her—Jack with a smile of peculiar smugness while the blonde only exhibited a baffled anger.

"Perfect, you do just that," Jack said, his tone silky smooth. "Oh, and Ralph?" Jack said just as he was about to turn away from the pair. Ralph brought his wary gaze towards him.

"You might want to think about it as well. Think really hard." Jack finished. His smile remained casual, though his blue eyes were as rigid as concrete. Ralph couldn't shake the prickling numbness that gathered over his skin, resenting the fact that Jack was now resorting to making indirect threats. He didn't respond as the two hunters turned and left them.

As soon as they were well across the grassy expanse towards the school, Irene instantly turned to Ralph.

"Ralph, what's going on? Does this have anything to do with the island?" Her voice was forceful and nearly seemed frightened.

Ralph glanced at her, shocked that she had brought it up. He knew that she must have always known about him being stranded, because of their parents being connected, but she had never brought it up before. It had almost been an unspoken truce between them, something that she must have felt needed to be broken at this point.

Ralph wanted to refute her suspicion, maybe even ignore her, but in that moment, looking into her angry, hurt-filled eyes, he knew that he could do neither.

"Yes," he whispered. Keeping eye contact, he noticed how visibly her passion slowly left her expression as she continued to stare at him.

"Ralph…" she sighed, lowering her eyes for a moment. Her countenance replaced with something serious. "I know that you will think that I'm just being overly cautious or protective, but I'm truly just being honest…" She paused.

"…If I were you, Ralph, I wouldn't cross the Merridews."

Ralph stiffened, noting the grim sincerity. Feeling her hand find his, he was surprised to feel the smallest tremble in her fingers. From how much he knew of her so far, he didn’t take her for a girl who was easily intimidated. This alone was what continued to hold his attention. Irene took another earnest breath, carrying on her speech.

"I'm sure that you've had your own experiences with Jack, so I'm probably just telling you something that you already know, but… that family is... well, they're not good people."

"Are you saying that I should just go and accept his invitation?" Ralph voiced, a creeping anger wringing through.

"No," Irene said. "I'm not suggesting anything of the sort. I’ve just noticed that, well, there’s something odd between the two of you. Anyone can see that." She said the last part with a small, sullen laugh, seeing Ralph's incredulous expression.

"I already told you that our parents are close. I know how they work." Here she looked uncomfortable, kicking the dirt lightly with her booted toe.

"If he's a smidgen of what his _father_ is—which I believe he is—" Irene practically spat the word 'father.’ "—then he will do whatever it takes to get what he wants."

Ralph's body heated in growing irritation at seeing the way that she appeared to just accept whatever hidden thing that had blemished her usual resolve. Something that she continued to conceal from him, was his guess. He carefully lifted Irene's chin so that their eyes could meet.

"You're right. I don't know them. And I promise that I'll be careful with whatever you're worried over, but I refuse to compromise." He brought his face closer to hers, breathing in the scant trace of lilac—reminiscent of the scent worn by both their mothers.

"Something about me, Rene. I never give up."

Irene didn't have a chance to respond before Ralph pressed his mouth gently against hers. It wasn’t until he felt something warm and wet against his cheek that he withdrew, realizing it was tears. Irene started to viciously bite her lip, averted her gaze from him.

"What is it?" Ralph asked—stunned at her reaction. Irene moved away from him as more tears spilled over.

"I'm sorry, Ralph. I've been unfair to you." Irene struggled to keep her voice level.

"What—"

She cut him off. "We—We shouldn't be doing this. I can't do this, Ralph." Irene's voice audibly trembled.

Ralph, still completely baffled at this strange turn of events, tried to reach for her again. She moved further away, giving him one last glance, before she turned away. She bolted, began to sprint across the lawn towards the school without looking back.

Ralph stood still, alone within the growing darkness. He was utterly dumbfounded, feeling a fresh wave of an odd sort of ache in his chest. The sounds of nightly insects began to waft through the air. Confused and feeling a little lost with the questions that Irene had left with him, Ralph began his trek back to the school on his own. His walk now slow and reluctant.

When the main building came into view, Ralph continued forward. The bright lights and the sounds from the dining hall attempted to beckon, though Ralph simply ignored it as he walked straight for the dormitories. He shuffled through the empty corridors. It was unnervingly calm, devoid of any life as he decided to make his way to his room.

Upon reaching it, he opened the door to his shadowed dorm, briefly rubbing the tight stress from his eyes before turning on the light. Without looking around, he went straight to his wardrobe as he shrugged out of his coat and loosened his scarf and tie, mindful of the tender, yellowing bruise at the base of his throat. He slowly slid the tie out from beneath his collar before opening the first couple of buttons, giving the skin of his neck room to breathe. Ralph grabbed his crumpled towel, now much more in the mood for a numbingly hot shower instead of a meal.

Just as he turned, he nearly collided into someone standing in the middle of his room. Ralph dropped his things, his eyes as wide, and his pulse went through the roof in a millisecond. It took him longer to realize that it was the same redhead that he had seen just minutes ago on the car park. Ralph's startled expression instantly morphed into one of pure rage.

"What's your problem?! Can't you knock like a normal person instead of creeping up on someone?" Ralph vented, trying to steady himself when he realized just how dangerously alone he was with Jack. Come to think of it, he hadn't even heard the door open, so how did—?

His thoughts were interrupted when Jack suddenly drew closer to the blonde, his face unmoving, and his eyes were those of a livid hunter's, narrowly surveying potential prey. Ralph instinctively backed away, his body soaring with renewed alarm, though he tried to keep his face straight, as straight as Jack's. Forced into neutrality, Ralph attempted to unconcernedly move around the imposing figure.

Jack stopped him with a quick maneuver of his arm and twisted his body so that the front of Ralph collided against his chest. "Where do you think you're going?" Jack's voice was lowered. Pale eyes threatening.

"To shower, not that it's any of your business," Ralph answered mechanically with eyes that refused to meet Jack's as he continued in his effort to move around him. Jack's arm tightened slightly as he followed Ralph, dangerous fingers trailing across the front of his torso.

"Come here," Jack said; his voice vexingly calm and collected. It wasn't a request.

"Get out of my room!" Ralph countered as he backed up right into the wall. Jack was there in a flash, pinning his body with his own, immobilizing him. Ralph's attempts at struggle were futile and he went limp—hoping Jack would back off from him if he refused to give him a proper fight.

Ralph's hard eyes hardened as he felt a cool hand graze his face, moving upwards in a slow caress until the dry fingertips met his hairline. Jack continued to appraise him as his fingers moved through the soft hair before dipping back down to Ralph’s jaw. Jack's thumb brushed against Ralph's lower lip, forcing them to part, revealing a sliver of gritted teeth.

Ralph felt his skin prick beneath his touch. The longer that Ralph inspected Jack back, the more he felt the blood leave his face, detecting not the affection that Jack had displayed before, but an intense possessiveness, one that seemed to be edged with an intense anger. It was startling to see him act like this when he was so physically close.

"C'mon, Ralph," Jack said, his voice softly mocking. "You were the one that first brought me to your room."

Ralph stared.

When he didn't reply, Jack moved his face with almost feline swiftness towards Ralph's, stopping when their lips were barely touching. Tight fear crawled through Ralph's skin and he tried to hide it, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. Instead of leaning forward ever so marginally to connect with his mouth, Jack stood up a bit straighter so that their noses now touched. The end of Jack's nose lightly trailed down Ralph's cheek and down his neck, inhaling softly. The maleness of Jack’s scent filled Ralph’s nostrils.

Ralph remained motionless as his palms shifted to flatten instead against the wall, completely in the dark of what this unpredictable boy was going to do to him. Jack stiffened when he found what he was searching for, his nose picked up the faint, offending odor of perfume along the curve of Ralph's jaw.

It smelled like her.

Jack jolted back, feeling the unwelcome heat of jealousy. Eyes ignited. Against his better judgment, Ralph met the stare, blue-grey eyes insolent. Jack's hands tightened, responding by roughly pushing the blonde up against the wall so that he was now up to his height—their faces level.

Ralph forgot just how physically strong Jack was, despite what his slender frame suggested. He was unexpectedly strong on the island as well; this remained unchanged. The ferocious movement startled Ralph and he took a sharp intake of breath. His hair fell into slight disarray across his forehead at the sudden jerking motion of being held against the wall.

The blonde waited in uneasy anticipation as Jack continued to stare at him. Hard. Ralph's eyes reflected equal and unrelenting obstinacy, even if he was the one that was thrown up against the wall.

Just as unexpectedly, with a breathy grunt, Jack's mouth sealed Ralph's. Jack's hand hooked behind his Ralph’s neck, holding his face close and firm. He worked his lips apart before slipping in his hot tongue, savoring his taste and demanding a reaction. When Ralph didn't move, Jack's tongue began to sumptuously explore his mouth, leaving no detail undiscovered. He expertly probed and kneaded Ralph's unresponsive tongue with his own. When their lungs began to burn, Jack broke apart only for a harsh gasp of breath, barely giving Ralph enough time to do the same, before smashing their mouths together again.

Mine.

Despite the bold face he put on, Ralph felt irrefutably vulnerable. His head was still spinning from recent events—just one fucked up thing after another. Ralph was sure that he had enraged the head chorister beyond repair and yet here he was, apparently feeling the need to shove his tongue down his throat.

And what was worse was that he didn't understand his own reaction to Jack. Sure, he was upset that chorister had barged into his room, but his body never felt so overheated in the rawness of Jack and all his reactions.

It only took a moment—a split second for Ralph's rationality to slip before he fell, much like during the savage dance that ultimately took Simon's life. He was pulled in and felt only his own unrestrained instinct, to satisfy and to take. In that moment, his body burned and wanted. Useless arms came to life. One crept up and gripped Jack's strained bicep while the other flung behind him, pulling their hard bodies together with hot urgency. Ralph shuddered, a frightening amount of lust pulsing through his body, at the contact.

His tongue sprang to life and he pushed hard against Jack's. Taking the hunter by surprise, the attack was a quick success. Reveling in this momentary switch of dominance, he tasted the inside of Jack's mouth for the first time. The blonde was surprised that Jack didn't smile, laugh, or show any sign of gloated amusement that he was finally responding to him. Instead, he crudely grunted, not liking the lapse of power, as he violently pushed back. Some things never change.

Ralph swiftly pulled away, ending the wet, terrifying encounter. Their darkened eyes locked, heavy breaths filling the silent room. Their mouths were swollen. Impatient for more, Jack viciously pulled on the front of Ralph's shirt, dragging him up towards him before forcing their mouths together once more. Their abused lips, sharp teeth, and tongues seemed to be everywhere at once. No reachable skin was safe from the spiteful onslaught. Ralph's arm wrapped hard behind Jack's neck and moved his mouth as fiercely as he could against his.

Their movements were irresistible, uncontrollable, and rough. Savage.

The occasional vibrations of Jack's harsh breath filled the air between their abrasive kisses as he poured both his unrestrained want and hatred into them. They were both trying to brutalize the other more, the raw amount of fight igniting the air between them disoriented all rational thought. Jack knew he had always preferred being rough, though in this baffling, unexpected moment, he found that he had never been more turned on in his life.

Quick fingers pulled at Ralph's tucked, collared shirt from the constraint of his trousers. Jack’s hand delved beneath the cloth of the dress shirt the instant it was released. Jack released a breathy noise as his hand quickly ventured up between the indent of Ralph's shoulder blades. The edge of his shirt followed his hand, exposing the entire expanse of Ralph’s back to the air, which Jack's hands now caressed, his nails dragged lightly up and down. His hips brutishly rocked against him. Jack's eyes closed, losing himself in the warmth and texture of the skin beneath his fingers.

Ralph's breath labored as he pulled away from Jack's incessant mouth. Aversion simmered within his chest towards the intimate feel of Jack's hands as they moved against the sensitive skin of his back, creeping upwards until they delicately caressed the area between his shoulders.

This he wouldn't have. Not the tenderness. Not the softness.

"No," Ralph shuddered, his voice trembled with protest.

His knees felt pathetic, his body suddenly drained as the two of them simultaneously lowered to the ground. A short struggle ensued before Jack forced himself on top, softly pushing Ralph's back against the cool, wooden floor.

Jack glanced at Ralph's conflicted face before quickly driving ravenous fingers beneath the front of Ralph's shirt, his palms flat against his stomach. Hands moved up his chest with sensual slowness as he pushed the fabric up towards Ralph’s neck, revealing more pale skin. Ralph observed the way that Jack eyed him with a violent hunger. He bit his abused lip when he felt the fingers beginning to explore the uncharted expanse of his torso.

Jack's head dipped lower, bringing his wet mouth to the exposed skin. Ralph's teeth sunk even deeper into his lip to stop any sounds from escaping when he felt the warm wetness of Jack's tongue tracing down his body. He only continued, placed kisses, sucking, and licking lower and lower until he reached the indent of Ralph’s exposed hip. His teeth sank against the bone. The redhead's firm hand crept up until it pressed tightly over the left side of his chest. Ralph's pulse was pounding.

Then, without warning, everything became cold when he felt Jack stop. Something odd crossed Jack’s expression as the pressure behind his fingers completely faded. Ralph wondered what Jack was looking at until he felt one of his fingers touch a familiar path along his chest, a path that he tried hard to forget. It wasn't a touch inspired by lust, but rather of examination, like a doctor. Ralph quivered and turned his face away when he felt Jack complete his journey across his diagonal scar, his jaw stiffening.

"Ralph, is that—?" Jack's husky voice was amazingly coherent, considering what they had just been doing.

Ralph took advantage of his moment and roughly pushed Jack off. He pulled down his shirt, hiding the large scar, as he sat himself up. Jack landed on his backside, though he continued to stare at Ralph, an unreadable expression resting over his face.

"Yes," Ralph whispered harshly. Fresh shame coated his face as his senses were slowly returning to him, suddenly humiliated with what they were doing and who he had become for that short while. He had sworn to himself that he would never be something like that again.

‘I'm so sorry, Simon…’ Tears threatened and pricked at his dry eyes, but he held them off. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek until the taste of iron filled his mouth, masking the taste that he wanted to forget. The pain consoled him.

Jack stood as he righted his clothing, running a hand through disheveled, rusty hair. Ralph stared at the wall, refusing to look at him.

"I hope you change your mind about Friday," Jack acted as if they had just concluded a study session. He spoke in an unruffled and refined fashion. As if all of that was so utterly normal. Ralph remained still as he sat on the floor, his expression becoming more vacant as the swollen stillness wore on.

Jack appeared to be making his leave before he stopped at the door.

"Before I forget…" Jack's jaw tightened with a primitive intent as he turned back towards the blonde. He crouched so that they were at eye level with each other, even though Ralph attempted to turn his face to the side. Jack's hand reached out, taking Ralph's chin and brought his face towards his. He didn't miss the way that Jack's eyes were like that of burning ice as he scrutinized him.

The whiff of the girl’s perfume upon his prey was quickly turning into a recurrent nuisance, already turning over as a repeated reminder in Jack’s thoughts. He didn't share.

"You should go take that shower." Impulsively, Jack pressed his possessive mouth against the exact stretch of jaw where he had caught the fragrance from before. The flat side of his teeth grazed softly over the skin before he just as quickly retreated. He stood, walked across the room and opened the door. Ralph stared at Jack's receding figure, with perplexed eyes. He said one more thing before melting into the shadows of the empty hall.

"I don't want to catch you smelling like that again."

.

.

.


	9. Kill with Silence

_ “ _ _ It sucks to be alone, even when there are people all around you. _ _ ” _

_ -Scrubs _

.

.

.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going!” 

Ralph nearly jumped from his seat; the feeling of betrayal crept within his already churning stomach. He had woken this morning with the heavy sensation of nausea, as thoughts of what had transpired between him and Jack the evening before passed through his troubled, stressed mind. Since then, he had been in a perpetual state of feeling ill. Most of the food on his tray remained untouched, a quiet testament to his inner disgust.

Eric stared blankly at the table, his grip on the edge tightening. His face paled a few degrees at Ralph’s indignation; it almost felt like he had already let him down after pining so passionately for pardon. He looked up; a sudden impression of something else solidifying his features. “I—I don’t have a choice. Sam will be there and Roger, he— “ Eric paused, as if forcing down the rising bile that threatened to burn his throat. “—he threatened him.”

Ralph’s rigid expression remained, though he pushed himself to calm down enough so that he could sit back at the table, his fists still clenched upon his lap. “Roger?” His voice came with forced civility, swallowing his resentment that strained to escape. 

Eric nodded when he saw that he had Ralph’s listening ear. “Sam doesn’t know, though… that Roger’s angry with him, I mean.” Here he bowed his head, as if speaking to a priest, confessing his most awkward sins. “Roger came to me with threats… of what he was going to do to him.” 

The thickness of the air between them settled as Ralph crossed his arms tightly, his eyes incensed over this new bit of information. He thought and processed this as he stared without seeing.

Eric licked his dried lips, eyes nervously flashing between Ralph and his tray of food, unsure of what to do, so he continued. “I think it’s because of Cleeves… I don’t think Roger likes that they’ve practically been glued to each other since the beginning of the school year.” A cloud of misery hung over his eyes. 

“Hmph,” Ralph sighed. He felt the same pain from last night caused by Irene’s odd rejection flitter within his gut, instigating an internal cringe. So it seems that the hunters don’t like it when they give their attention away to others. Or at least to anyone that isn’t them, Ralph thought as a surge of fresh rage heated his insides, though his expression remained unmoved. 

“I don’t like this. I don’t like what they’ve been doing.” Ralph muttered as he mindlessly poked at his mushy food. 

“I’d only be going to make sure nothing happens to him,” Eric interjected softly, mentally building his case in order to properly present it before Ralph. “I already tried to talk Sam out of going, but he insisted that there was nothing that I could say that could change his mind. He said that he wanted to go because _ Cynthia _ was going.” Eric’s face muddied upon saying her name. “I didn’t really want to argue… we haven’t fought in so many years… and… I don’t want to start now . ” He finished as a rather crestfallen expression crept over him.

Before Ralph could respond, Irene came into view, causing his heart to liven, to beat so hard against his chest that he could feel it everywhere. He forgot his next thought entirely as he brought his face up from Eric. Irene caught his regard and held it with her own.

Hesitation rested briefly over her face before she seemed to have made up her mind. She walked towards their table and sat next to him. Ralph tried and failed to stifle a smile. Eric quieted when he saw that they were no longer alone and began to concentrate on his own unappetizing tray of food. 

“You should be eating,” Irene mumbled as she settled into her seat, her eyes sliding over to Ralph’s untouched tray, disapproval touching her eyes. Ralph felt a wave of comfort from the small return of her old self as he tastelessly spooned whatever it was on his tray into his mouth. He still had no idea what it was as he swallowed. 

“Rene,” He whispered, leaning towards her. She cringed a little, as if she had just been pricked. “I need to tell you something.” 

She looked over at him, reflecting only her peculiar sadness and guilt. “Ralph—“she started before he viciously cut her off, not wanting to hear her retreat from him for a second time. His stomach warped uncomfortably at the thought.

“Please hear me out… We can meet in secret after school?” Ralph spoke in a low, quiet voice as he stared at the table, stressing the word so that she got the hint of where he meant.

“Okay” Irene relented, a slight stumble in her speech. A blush faintly brushed her cheeks before it just as quickly faded. He allowed a small smile as he shoveled more of the bland food into his mouth. 

The rest of breakfast passed rather uneventfully apart from a couple of knowing glances being passed between Ralph and Eric, their unfinished conversation hanging densely in the air between them. Classes that followed were monotonous and Ralph was only itching to escape them as the day carried on. 

When the last dismissal bell finally rang, he cautiously began making his way past the throng of students as they all rushed towards whatever activity they had in mind after school. His eyes searched, almost accusatory in nature as he made his way towards the secret grove. The last thing he needed was to have any of the hunters stalk him to the very spot that Irene had entrusted him with. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he plunged within the trees. He managed to take a small detour before finally relenting and emerging within their secret spot, almost feeling the burn of unfriendly eyes upon the back of his neck, despite the caution.

He waited. His hands strained fretfully within his pockets as he thought of what he was going to say. Words became tangled messes within his mind and his breath came in short, nervous fits as he constantly shifted his weight, taking out his stress on the overgrown grass. Before long, Ralph’s gaze shot in the direction of shaken leaves. His pulse rose slightly. Irene’s hand appeared, swatting agitatedly at the branches as she wriggled her way in through the narrow passage that the close knit trees allowed. 

“Hey,” Ralph said immediately as he drew closer, all previous plans of subtlety thrown out the window. His eyes shone brightly, causing a bit of the hopeful excitement to leak into Irene’s dull mood. She smiled at him, a genuine response, softening her mouth. 

Acting on impulse, knowing that they were free from the prying eyes of society, she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. Her arms crossed over the expanse of his back as he wrapped his arms about her frame without hesitancy. While confusion continued to plague Ralph’s mind with Irene’s strange, conflicting behavior, he savored the moment, bringing his face down into her hair, nuzzling his nose into her silky locks like an overly-affectionate dog. He could smell her lilac and immediately buried himself within it, closing his eyes.

Irene visibly relaxed, enveloped protectively within his masculine scent, both thrilling and calming her nerves. Ralph finally pulled away after a long moment, but didn’t move far. 

“Um,” He anxiously rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to remember what he was going to say. Irritable with his suddenly blank mind, he continued, taking the spontaneous route. “So… I felt that I must have offended you in some way last night.” Irene took a breath as if to say something but was stopped by Ralph’s pleading eyes. She pressed her lips together.

“I honestly don’t know what I said or did. I know that sometimes I can be rather dense and say things that I don’t really mean…” Wow, this sure is smooth, his mind jeered. He swallowed with great difficultly. “I’m new at this… So, I hope that you can forgive me for whatever I did or said. And I’ll try not to repeat it.” 

The entire time, Irene was trying her best not to interrupt him, not to smile. His presentation felt so innocently ardent, that the corners of her mouth automatically lifted. When he finished, she couldn’t stop the small laugh that had escaped her lips. Ralph tilted his head slightly in further confusion, golden hair shifting in the breeze. Completing the picture of how endearing he was being in that moment, Irene shifted quickly forward and pressed a firm kiss to this cheek. She moved back, smirking at the stunned, though somewhat pleased look upon his face. 

“I’m sorry, but I had to. You were being cute.” Irene laughed softly at his abruptly vexed expression at being called such. Her face took a serious turn as she remembered what exactly they were talking about. 

“And… you don’t need to apologize for anything. Honestly, it’s me that ran off. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Irene spoke as she peered down at their feet, the toes of their shoes barely apart amidst the grass. 

“If anything, it’s me who should be apologizing,” Irene took a slow breath. “I just feel awful about… well, in a way, I feel like I’m leading you on when I shouldn’t be.” 

“Is… Is there someone else?” The very idea of there being another guy made his blood warm in a way that felt uncomfortable. It made his skin crawl with a sudden and vengeful itch. He averted his eyes.

“No! Oh, God no.” Irene said quickly. “It’s just that… I might not see you after school ends. I might be sent away.” Her fingers lifted and trailed over Ralph’s hand, her light fingertips tickled his palm and he immediately closed his hand, griping them in the process. 

“Is that all?” Ralph asked, raising his brows. He almost felt like laughing, now feeling absurd over the possibility of something serious. Irene looked at him, her brows knitted together slightly, as if irritated at this graceful acceptance.

“No that’s not _ all _ ,” she spoke, her normally gentle brown eyes hardened. “But that’s all I’m telling you. You don’t need details. Just know that you might not ever see me again after school.” 

Ralph’s face loosened, his eyes were slightly downcast as the toe of his shoe halfheartedly moved loose soil. “You don’t know that. Things can change.”

A sad smile touched Irene’s features as she lifted Ralph’s head, both of her hands rested carefully at the sides of his face. Grey-blue eyes looked back at hers, apprehensive.

“You know what, Ralph? Let’s forget about this.” She drew her face close to his, her designated look of familiar defiance creeping slowly into her eyes. “Let’s concentrated on what’s now… I don’t want to remember only how I worried away my last days. I, at least, want to remember something pleasant before I’m to be locked away.” She chuckled quietly at his sudden look of bewilderment. One of her hands buried within his gilded hair. 

“I’m just kidding,” she whispered; though a hint of sadness lingered.

Thoughts dissipated and Ralph’s heart thudded heavily when Irene pulled his face down to hers, softly molding her lips against his. He pulled in close, a hand quickly finding the back of her neck. Ralph lost his breath, their kiss breaking unexpectedly, when he felt Irene’s hands suddenly grip his shoulders and pulled herself upwards, crushing their bodies together. They shared a shaking gasp as they toppled over onto the forest floor; Irene bent the unruly, long grass as Ralph’s body followed. Their breathy amusement over their eagerness quickly dissipated the moment they regained composure. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Light shivers played over his skin, faintly detecting the heavy array of longing in her brown eyes. 

The touch of the dreamlike moment that had quickly built around them shattered in an instant with a single blood-curdling scream. It pierced straight into the pair’s rapidly rising hearts as they pushed away from each other and scrabbled to their feet. 

Ralph nearly stumbled with sudden vertigo upon standing, though his darkened, alarmed eyes shot in the general direction of the sound. He could only hear Irene’s harsh breath as they stood still, listening for a moment, though no further screams followed. They exchanged startled, somewhat doubtful glances. With unspoken treaty, they left their hiding spot. 

Their footing was hardly quiet, despite their best efforts. Even the slightest stirring amongst the cold, long-dead leaves sounded like the crackling of an overeager fire. Just as they reached the abrupt halt of the tree line before stepping out into the exposed field before the school, Ralph reached over to clasp Irene’s arm and yanked her hard against one of the trees. The movement was so quick, so urgent that Irene immediately muttered a protest. Ralph muffled her speech with his hand as he flattened himself against her. The bark bit harshly into her back with this added pressure. Her eyes above his oppressive hand flooded with anger until she noticed Ralph’s expression. It was of panic as he peered around her, staring fixedly at something out on the open grass. Her hand came up and clawed silently at his until it gave away.

Irene turned her head, following Ralph’s hardened line of vision. Out upon the field, bathed in the subtle golden light of the October sunset, was a dark figure. He slipped like a shadow towards the school, his legs quick and silent. 

After he was out of sight, Ralph backed away from Irene, his face pale, though not with the trepidation that she felt towards this bizarre situation, but with a cold resentment—a kind of anger that she had never seen on him before.

“Who was that? Did you see?” Irene muttered, her quiet voice sounded thunderous in the oppressive stillness that had followed. 

“Roger…” Ralph responded with a callused whisper, his critical eyes never leaving the spot where they had just seen him dart away. Just then, in a quick second, his eyes tempered as he turned to survey the surrounding woods. His mouth opened slightly, as if to voice a troubling thought, though seemed to think better of it before tightening his jaw. 

With nothing further to do, Irene and Ralph began to make their way over towards the school as well. No more words were exchanged, though Irene couldn’t help but to glance towards her blonde companion every once in a while, almost half expecting him to share some of the turbulence that was so clearly brewing inside his mind. 

He never did. His mouth remained a tight, thin line, clamped in forbidden silence. 

Ralph was even quiet all through dinner. Eric and even Sam had decided to join them, though Irene could tell by the slight redness of their faces and stoic expressions that they currently weren’t getting along. The tension between them simmered the cool air. A quick surveillance of the room divulged that Cynthia was absent, explaining Sam’s unexpected presence back at their table.

Only once did Irene manage to smile at Ralph, catching his eyes, to which he responded with a forced one of his own. The rest of their time together was dull, yet almost as strained as the air between Sam and Eric. They said their respectable good-nights before departing, leaving Irene feeling peculiarly tense, wondering just exactly what was going on.

Ralph found his way quickly to his room, avoiding the mass of school boys as they talked, laughed, and made their way through the halls. Upon reaching his room, he snatched shower things before hastily making his way towards the washroom. 

Even beneath the hot water as it dribbled over closed lids and down his body, the tension refused to leave—the severe impression, the gruel, dripping stain that Roger’s presence within the woods had left upon his mind. It mocked him, taunted his dark curiosity. 

What the hell was he doing there? And what was that god-awful scream? He had never even heard him scream before—wasn’t even particularly sure if he was even capable of something so human. 

No, it couldn’t have been him. It sounded younger.

Ralph scrubbed at his body harder than was necessary, absorbed with agitation. By the time he broke from his mental tirade, his hand reached blindly for the shower nob, twisting it off. Only after the sound of the water pelting the hard-tiled floor had ceased, did he realize just how quiet it had gotten in the washroom. Ralph’s ears strained for any familiar sounds of the others as he toweled himself dry. 

Nothing. Not even the sound of mindless dull, shuffling that he had involuntarily grown used to over the past month.

Pulling boxers on with an uneasy haste, he snatched the rest of his clothes as he began to leave, opting to finish getting ready in his room instead of the suddenly cold, calm washroom. He had nearly made it out of the door before he was greeted by a shadow, leaning luxuriously against the wall alongside the entrance, arms limply crossed. 

Roger. Of course.

Ralph’s heart soared into that of a vulnerable pace, though he tried not to betray the acid apprehension that now flourished. Trying his best at keeping a straight face, his eyes quietly found Roger’s, disconcerted to see that he was staring back. 

Roger straightened, pulling himself away from the wall, almost gracefully as he stalked closer, eyes never leaving Ralph. His face was as emotionless as a wax doll—all smooth with an unsettling emptiness. Ralph frowned at this comparison as he drew closer.

“What are you doing?” The blonde voiced dryly.

The other only stared in response, though a lone corner of his mouth lifted marginally. It certainly didn’t take long to notice the patterns, the schedule of a person. To know their habits. All he needed to do was watch and wait. His line of sight lowered slightly, sliding with deft smoothness down to his half unclothed front before making his visual trek back up to his face. He could see why Jack wanted him, but the simple observation did little to sooth the reservations he held over Jack’s obvious fixation. 

“I want to know what you’re up to,” Roger said. The edges within the blunt declaration were softened in an artificial sounding way. Sugar never did mix well with rancid things—like a horribly sweetened cough syrup. Especially towards someone who had already tasted just how unpleasant Roger was beneath the smokescreen. 

Ralph bristled. A short, sardonic laugh escaped him, echoing mildly in the tiled room. “You think _I’m_ the one who’s up to something?”

The dark hunter observed, gauging Ralph’s reaction with a guarded eye before moving closer. Closer still—until their faces were matched at an uncomfortable distance. This, Roger preferred. It made it easier to force the target into less ease, especially when they had yet to be broken, like an unbridled horse that had never known the pain and will of a harsh hand. 

“I know you are. And it won’t take me long to find out what it is.” Roger had to hold back a smile, lest he wanted to ruin the moment. Even if Ralph was insinuating the truth and he didn’t devious motives, it would still be fun to play with him. And it was then—and only then that Roger remembered Jack’s tasteless demand. He couldn’t play with him—it wasn’t fucking allowed. Roger frowned as he retracted from Ralph, yielding his disciplinary gaze, drawing back at a normal distance. He looked every bit like a sour cat that had been forced to relinquish a thrashing, captured mouse. 

Confusion touched Ralph’s eyes as his mouth surrendered to silence. It was prolonged before he finally broke away from it. Back on task. 

“You need to leave the twins alone,” the Ralph said, trying to keep his teeth from clenching. 

Roger looked back at him; sudden amusement gleamed in his dark eyes. “Right. If you say so. You know how you’ve always had such an impact on me.” His speech was flat, though the sarcasm unambiguously bled through. A leer protruded from an otherwise hollow face.

“You’re sick. You’re both sick.” Ralph muttered. “This isn’t a game. Even if you think it is, then you’re the only ones playing. We don’t want any part of it.”

Roger chuckled. The sound echoing against the tiles. “You’re already in this, Medevane. And so are they. We’ve been playing at this for a long time now… even if you’ve yet to realize that.” Here, Roger relished a smile, a dirtied expression on his face as he once more loomed closer to the blonde, his voice low. 

“And it’s never going to end. You’re going to take this game to the grave—We all are.” The way he nearly spat the word ‘game’ made Ralph not think of it as one at all. More like an affliction, and for a fleeting moment, he knew exactly what Roger was talking about and could almost sympathize. Just as quickly, however, his rational mind shook away at the glistening web of his words, only serving to baffle the blonde even further.

Two sides of the same coin that would never come to terms. They would never truly understand each other. And Ralph felt that he had both Jack and Roger’s constantly there in his thoughts, always divided, always waging war—and tearing him up amidst the grueling process. 

Roger observed him, though when Ralph looked back, Roger’s expression withdrew, leaving behind only his notorious mask—calm and hardened to the point of forcing the observer to doubt that he was just another boy. 

“Perhaps I’ll see you later. Tomorrow’s Friday, after all.” Roger’s voice softened, though remained its monotonous self as he opened the door of the washroom. He threw back one last, vacant glance before leaving Ralph behind. 

Ralph raced after him, flinging open the washroom door before his rapid eyes scanned the hallways. He was gone. As if he had simply vanished. Ralph forced himself to breath after finding that he had stilled his lungs somewhat—as if they would interrupt that strange moment. And still living within that moment, he was unsure if he felt more agitated or relieved at Roger’s sudden departure.

Gripping the lump of his clothes and damp towel, he strolled back towards his room. A sullen mood trailed close behind. Heavy. Suffocating.

Upon opening his door, he was shocked to see an altogether familiar someone lounging lavishly upon his wrinkled, made bed. One long arm was tucked beneath the back of his head as he lay upon Ralph’s pillow; the other was holding a white piece of paper up close to his prowling eyes. Ralph stood still. Mouth was slightly agape and eyes hard at the sight before him. 

“What the—_ ugh _ , can’t I go ten fucking minutes without seeing either one of you?!”

Jack lowered the letter from his pale gaze as he lazily surveyed Ralph, as if _he_ were the one intruding upon his private quarters. The gaze instantly roughened as he raised himself from the bed. Jack spoke, a blend of subtle humor and enticement. 

“Trying to bait me already? And you’ve only just arrived,” His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. The predatory grin was already set in place as he finally stood from the bed. “You should know by now how I get when I see you so annoyed.” Amused eyes glittered on Ralph’s exposed skin as he drew near, pale fingertips already making light contact with Ralph’s stomach. 

Hot blood rushed to Ralph’s face and the instant throb of embarrassment as he struck the forward hand away. Walking further into the room, Ralph gained some much-needed space between them, quickly dragging a clean shirt over his head. Jack only followed, pressing the front of his torso tightly against Ralph’s back. Persistent hands snaking around his lower stomach; fingers skimmed the line of skin, revealed as the edge of his recently placed shirt hitched. 

Ignoring the shivering way that his skin raised, Ralph wretched himself away from Jack’s hold, twisting so that they now faced each other. 

“_Why_ are you here?” Ralph spoke in a harsh tone. He scrutinized the disgruntled, crumpled sheets of his bed as well as his father’s scant letter now thrown carelessly amidst the covers. Looking back at Jack, his eyes narrowed. “And why are you going through my things?!”

The redhead smirked lightly. “You’re sixteen now?” 

Ralph didn’t respond, only growing more irritated at his blatantly ignored questions. Jack shadowed closer, now smoothly taking the blond’s jaw between gentle fingers. Instead of resisting, Ralph fixed Jack with a punitive stare. 

“I want you to leave,” Ralph spoke before the predator could move in closer. His voice was as hard as his regard suggested. Jack paused, though didn’t move away. His amused lips were close and appealing as they curved. 

“That’s what you always say, but it’s clearly not what you want.” Those lips spoke and Ralph was surprised with how hard it was to concentrate with their proximity. So he removed them. Ralph shoved Jack away, not aggressively, but hard enough to enforce distance. Jack didn’t seem deterred, and that infuriating smile never left his face. All too self-assured. The blond grumbled softly before even trying to speak again.

“I assume that you have a room, so make use of it and stop coming here. And… _this_ needs to stop.” Ralph paused, unsure of what _this_ even was. Messing around? He didn’t know. Though from the look igniting Jack’s face, it seemed like he knew very well what _this_ was. It seemed like he knew excruciatingly well and it didn’t sit well with the blonde.

“Why deny yourself?” Jack laughed, though Ralph couldn’t tell if he was truly mocking him or just entertained by the situation and maybe even confused with the idea of self-denial. Either way, his blood simmered.

“This is wrong,” Ralph said. Jack suddenly frowned, lips thinning. There was a method to Ralph’s voice in that moment that Jack had always loathed with a barbed vehemence. It reminded him too much of that time and place years ago, back when he was the boy with the conch. Words ringing from him with self-conviction, one that he had so faithfully adopted as his own from the world of adults that had once been blissfully separated from them. 

And he obviously still held onto that. To an extent.

“Still putting on that pathetic display, are we?” Jack spat his words, poison teeming his voice. “You still pretend. Pretending to be something you’re not. Pretending that this world still wants you as you are.” 

Ralph bit at his inner cheek until familiar pain flooded his senses, though he continued to regard Jack as much as he didn’t want to. He was getting more used to the sudden fluctuations within Jack’s mood. He was always black or white, scorching or cold. It was very rare to find a steady, middle ground. The best the blonde could do was to sway with the violent tide, unresisting in a way that didn’t force the waves to hit harder. Harder until his resolve finally broke.

There was silence. A pause laden with the pregnant swell of tension. In the stillness, Ralph thought of Roger and his cryptic smile, of his promise involving the twins. And he knew in that moment that he was still in the thick of things, whether he liked it or not. The hunters made sure of that. He knew that he couldn’t pretend, couldn’t look the other way when he knew of Roger’s intentions. 

“I’ll go… to your party,” Ralph whispered. He didn’t have to look to know that Jack was pleased. Ralph felt his jaw tighten; the muscles within his arms grew taut as he folded them over his chest. “But I’ll only go if you leave right now.” He lowered his eyes to the floor, turning away from the chorister, so that he could only make out his blurry form within his peripheral. 

Jack paused, processing this before turning. He had nothing to lose, so he silently took up on Ralph’s offer. Triumph bloomed warm and bright beneath the constraint of his chest as he made his definite departure.

Ralph waited several seconds after the closing of his door, waited for what seemed like an eternity before he could breathe normally. His hands rubbed against his arms, instantly feeling the unwelcome chill of the empty room. The quietness and seclusion left only a bitter taste. And yet, it’s what he had asked for.

He never did derive comfort from solitude. He wasn’t sure if he ever could. 

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	10. Tricks and Treats

_“Now I lay me down to sleep, a bottle of vodka at my feet. If I shall die before I wake, tell my friends I drank it straight.”_

_-Unknown_

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Jack approached the much-too-large doors of his home, barely noticing the way that a peculiar, yet all too familiar vacancy rested across its well-manicured front garden. The estate’s pristine grandeur disgusted him in a way that few could comprehend. Outsiders always made stupid comments on how perfect his life was—how privileged and well-brought up he appeared to be.

And what was his response? Those fucking people didn’t know a bloody thing, even if it hit them hard and reckless up the arse. No—instead they preferred to admire the pretty image before them instead of the bleeding reality—dripping its impenetrable aroma of decay. The unwanted reminiscence of that particular scent caused his fingernails to mark accustomed grooves into cold palms. There wasn’t anything that irked him more than ignorance. Commonly misperceived as stupidity. Jack didn’t care. He thought the two principles went hand in hand. Probably why he hated children so much. They were stupid and ignorant.

Nothing short of a venomous frown formed over his mouth as he plunged the worn key into the lock of the front door. It clicked.

Ignoring the entryway and numerous passages—the maze of lifeless rooms that he had once gotten lost in as a small, stupid, ignorant child—he made his way over to the kitchen, hardly mindful of the cook as she prepared a pot of something over the cooker. Ripping open the fridge, he scanned the contents. Full as always. Even if there were only two people living in the monster of a home aside from the housekeeper, cook, and handful of other employees. Living was a loose term for even that. This was more like their pit stop. Their flashy display of good fortune.

“Where’s Patricia?” Jack spoke to the air as he grabbed a cider, elbowing the fridge shut. He continued to stare ahead, barely acknowledging the cook as she labored. The craggy, perspiring face peered over at him, small eyes clouded with age. Cigarette damaged lips thinned.

“_Your mother_—“the old woman’s voice rattled, lined with barely-smothered irritation as she attempted to correct his title. “—is out for tonight. She’s had something prepared for you.” Jack could only assume that she meant whatever was in the pot. The bridge of his nose creased slightly as he worked the top from the bottle. Chuckling without any real humor, he brought the drink to his lips.

“How motherly,” he mumbled. So, Patricia actually felt like a parent for a moment before leaving for another one of her decadent events. Nothing changed after the island. All Patricia Merridew did was quit her useless daytime job, claiming that she wanted to spend more time with him. Time progressed and Jack only displayed his fantastic ability to utterly ignore her.

Sweet payback. Though it wasn’t as sweet as he had anticipated.

She only sulked. Soon her time was spent more at lavish get-togethers with other non-working socialites—also wanting to spend more time with their families, of course. God only knows what she really did at these so-called parties. Jack didn’t want to know further than what he could already tell from her unkempt appearance upon coming home and the sour scent that trailed. Of course, his father showed little care. He was too absorbed in other matters to be concerned with something as trivial as a grown woman acting three decades younger than her actual age.

With a lazy countenance, still staring straight ahead, he spoke again. “You might want to consider taking the evening off.”

The woman’s hand tightened over the ladle, her face scrunched. Immediate comprehension raked through her. The young Merridew has said things like that before. And she most definitely wasn’t going to be there to witness the reveling. Quietly, she turned the cooker off before covering the pot with a lid, shoving it to the back burner, speculating what kind of disaster would meet with the estate this time around when she wandered back in for work the next morning. It was certainly never a dull moment.

Jack had already left the kitchen, barely aware of the journey to the second level of the house before entering his room. It was impeccable as always—lacking any giveaway to the oblivious observer that anyone lived there at all. Everything had its meticulous place, like a museum display. The blue gaze observed this before his bookbag was dumped over the large bed, instantly marring the catalog image. Schoolbooks and assignments littered burgundy sheets. Only a few were snatched from the pile before he lounged at the window seat, thorough fingers already flipping through the books, immediately starting on the weekend assignments. He never did more than was necessary—yet he would never outright neglect his studies—even if he was about to usher hell into his home in only a few short hours.

Restless ears picked up on the irritating ring of silence before he began to tap a casual rhythm against the edge of his notebook. A nuisance that was all too tempting to destroy.

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Ralph followed Sam and Eric, toting his overnight bag along. It wasn’t much. He never packed more than was necessary, especially when he was only going to be gone for such a short while. The blonde walked at a rather despondent pace, vaguely recalling the listless events that had landed him here.

Irene had mentioned the night before at dinner that her parents were taking her away for the weekend to visit relatives. Ralph was glad, as it was a reason for her to miss out on Jack’s party. He hadn’t particularly relished the possibly that he would have to watch out for her as well as the twins during this ridiculous event.

So far, everything that he had heard about them weren’t very good things. Most things were probably better left unsaid, but those were the very pieces of information that were too interesting to pass up for a good round of gossip, he supposed. That was, after all, how he was getting his current information.

It was Eric’s suggestion that Ralph stay over at their home, though the blonde couldn’t tell if he was merely being gracious or just trying to guarantee that he would have extra assistance in keeping Sam out of unnecessary trouble at the party that he was so adamant on attending.

He had waited with the twins at the front of the school for their parents, listening to Sam blather on about how wonderful Cynthia was while Eric occasionally interjected spiteful commentary, which his brother somehow managed to completely ignore. Ralph seemed to have also evaporated from their world as they continued on with their odd way of communicating with each other. He found that it was almost impossible to even eavesdrop on their conversation and follow their train of thought without hindrance. Most of what they said to each other were only broken fragments of conversation, the rest of which was filled with their pointed, knowing looks, gestures, and occasional sighs that seemed to convey an entire sentence to the other. It was confusing to watch and it made Ralph’s head ache.

Now, as they trudged through the twins’ average-sized home, Sam nodded towards the sofa just outside their bedroom. “It’s all yours, Ralph,” he said before tackling his brooding brother in the hallway, trying to crack a smile from him. It didn’t work. He only received a painful blow to the shoulder.

“What crawled up your arse and died?” Sam muttered, nursing his tender arm.

Eric shot him a look, like he had just tasted curdled milk. “Oh nothing. Only the fact that _you_ are the entire reason that Ralph and I are even going to this stupid party! You do know that it’s going to be hell avoiding the others, right?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Sam answered, an odd smile crossed his mouth as he seemed to be staring off into space, causing Ralph to wonder what he was thinking about.

Then again, that was the problem. He wasn’t thinking.

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Sam and Eric’s older brother had to be coaxed into driving them that night. He was the only one aside from their parents who actually had a vehicle, no matter how beat up it was. That, and the fact that he was the only one available that could legally drive. And so they all crammed into the backseat of his brother’s run down car. Ralph ignored the occasional conversation between the brothers as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the ominous shadows of the passing trees and houses as they loomed closer to their destination. The neighborhoods grew nicer and more extravagant with each passing minute. Soon, even the properties were excessive, creating more private distance between the homes.

The night was still young, but it was already dark, causing the boisterous lights from the mansions to exude with pronounced clarity amidst the growing shadows. Glancing around, Ralph was slightly alarmed to see that they could barely even perceive the next lit manor. It felt as if they were being dropped off in the heart of hell itself with nothing but a sea of surrounding blackness. No quick way out.

_Great_.

Parked cars lined the street and it seemed to stretch on endlessly, though it didn’t matter to them. Sam and Eric’s brother merely pulled up to the front, allowing them to get out quickly and easily.

“Oi, watch out for any freaks,” the older brother mumbled, eyeing the blaring mansion with disapproval. “It’s Halloween, so… you never know.”

“Yea, yea—“Eric responded. “I’ll ring you when we need to be picked up.”

He didn’t look convinced with Eric’s casual response as he pulled away from the home, driving back up the way he came, leaving the three unmoving teenagers to stare apprehensively towards the estate. Most were inside most likely due to the biting air, but there were a few that sauntered past, their unsteady gait suggesting that they were already past the point of no return in their sobriety.

Ralph couldn’t help but to roll his eyes, while Eric gulped and Sam beamed as he started to make his way towards the front doors, already set on his search for Cynthia. This alone was what forced Eric and Ralph to finally start making their way closer to the lights where pulsating music seemed to vibrate the very foundation.

They barely made it to the large double doors before they burst open, revealing a rowdy bunch of older teenagers, eagerly pushing their way out to the front garden in a fit of giggles, planning on doing God knows what. Ralph didn’t care enough to watch and only closed the doors once he and Eric were inside. Sam was investigating each room along the foyer, fervently scanning the boisterous crowds.

The other two walked forward, reluctance weighing their steps as they drew deeper into the chaos. Ralph could barely even hear his own breathing in the loudness of the chatter, laughter, and music. His pulse was in almost perfect synch with the throbbing of the lively song currently playing. The only sure thing that he could detect was the fact that Merridew’s home was beautiful—modern and sleek, and not to mention, ridiculously huge. Another was the irrefutable, thick scent of alcohol. It permeated through the air, reeking from the crowd’s pores.

To each side of the corridor were various rooms that were dimmed for obvious reasons. Ralph flushed brightly at the vague movement of shadows in some of these rooms where they’d forgotten to properly close the door. Quickly shifting his eyes elsewhere, he moved with Eric further in.

The party-goers’ movements were wild, and the was atmosphere thick with their savage laughter and shouts, recalling very much other screams and wild movement around a fire. His pulse could be felt in his throat. Immediately, he knew that he hated it. Hated how it brought back memories of a different sort of dance.

His skin continued to prickle with warmth when he realized with every direction that he managed to look; it was probably the most skin that he had ever seen. Nearly every girl was scantily clad and clung to random blokes throughout the area. And it was only when Ralph’s eyes traveled up the main staircase to the upper level, did he perceive familiar faces—ones that he knew he would find, but hoped to avoid.

Ralph’s and Eric’s gazes skimmed past the faces of the occupied hunters. Maurice and Bill literally had their hands full. Their dark eyes were already hazy, further evidenced by the half-emptied bottles in hands. Their other arm was entwined around the waist of an attractive girl—frivolous girls whose high-pitched giggles soared above the fierce chorus at every mundane comment. Ralph thought he noticed Roger’s form from the corner of his eye, but his shadow was gone in the next instant. Nowhere to be seen.

Eric stared. Ralph could only look on in disgust before he was finally able to tear his attention away. He couldn’t comprehend how they could be so carefree… so normal. Well, whatever could be considered normal enough for sixteen-year-olds. But not him. He still felt too misplaced. Too fucking stained. And he didn’t understand why he seemed to be the only one in their group.

Turning away, Ralph knew that he was ready to walk straight out that door, uncaring of the cold air that would await him, teeth already grinding an accustomed rhythm of pain beneath tightly closed lips.

“Ralph!”

The blonde internally cringed at the all-too-familiar voice calling out his name. And it was all before he could even think to take a step in the most desirable direction away from this. His slightly hitched pulse betrayed his thoughts, matched with a hint of horrible warmth as it flooded his skin. Sobering shame was the only thing that made him look back at Jack.

He caught sight of the tall redheaded boy just as he pushed his way out of a pretty girl’s drunken embrace from behind. Her blood-red nails grazed his torso before finally releasing her hold. She appeared to be confused, eyeing her surroundings, drunkenly realizing that she had misplaced something important. Ralph eyed the predator that swiftly approached him, a glittering blue gaze already assessing his new object of interest.

Ralph did a quick once over in return, finding it odd to see Merridew in such normal looking attire. Dark washed jeans matched with a casual, black button-down. He was only more embarrassed to find himself thinking that he actually looked nice. Trying to ignore that thought, he bit down lightly on the inner soft edge of his lip where it hurt most before reluctantly making eye contact.

Jack’s eyes darkened at the glimpse of the verge of Ralph’s teeth. Unlike most others, Jack was never shy or embarrassed about wanting something. If nothing, it only served to smugly boost his ego, daring him to take it further. And he didn’t back down from anything. He was a bloody Merridew after all—they were never timid.

“You actually came,” he murmured, a smirk decorating his freckled face. Ralph’s expression only grew more aggravated at his conceited tone.

“_Un_fortunately,” Eric spoke under his breath, nearly causing Ralph to flinch. Shit. He completely forgot that Eric was still with him. Jack also seemed to have neglected to notice the twin standing next to him as his hard gaze swept over towards the straggling boy before recognition lit his eyes.

“Oh well if it isn’t—“ Jack paused, unsure of which twin he was staring at. He never did take the time to tell them apart and he still couldn’t find it in himself to actually give a shit as to who was who. “—Eh, whoever the hell you are.”

How eloquent. Ralph had to bite back a laugh.

Eric shrank ever so marginally behind the blonde, his timid gaze latching onto the floor. Jack’s smile only grew wider at this reaction and he took a goading step closer, his shoulder brushing lightly against Ralph as he drew purposefully closer to the twin, delighted to see that he was moving even further away from him, cowering behind Ralph.

“Oh, and before I forget—“ Jack’s voice lowered, as if sharing a secret, even if Ralph was still between them, within blatant earshot of the entire exchange. “—there’s a certain someone looking for you. Stay alert.” A breathy laugh followed. Eric’s blood drained from his face.

Having enough of this, Ralph shouldered Jack away from the obviously terrified twin. “_Lay_ off,” he shouted over the music.

Jack’s sudden glare slid over to Ralph, which was promptly returned. The tension hung within the fragile air between them before something languid crossed Jack’s expression as he leaned in close to Ralph’s ear, away from Eric. Hot breath pouring over the blonde’s suddenly prickling skin.

“I won’t forget my priorities. Follow me.” And with that, he withdrew, a dangerous expression lifting a lone corner of his mouth as he gave Ralph another glance. It held so much purpose, so much promise, that the blonde couldn’t help leaning forward in the slightest, with the oddest desire to comply, to hopelessly trail behind like snared metal fragments to a magnet.

Ralph stopped himself for a moment, casting a glance over towards Eric, who still stood motionless, still petrified by Jack’s threat. Eric didn’t know what to say, even as he watched the blonde slowly turn away from him to follow Merridew, sliding deftly into the gyrating crowd as he trailed closely.

All he could do was observe with helpless silence as _his_ former chief followed _their_ former chief. He had no doubt that nothing good was going to come of it. Nothing ever did. The sullen thought was replaced with an even more alarming one, the fact that now both his brother and himself were being prowled by a twisted bully. Grunting with newfound terror, masked with agitation, he turned his wandering gaze away from the direction that Ralph had left in and focused on the initial search for his brother.

Meanwhile, the blonde was trying his best to not get lost amidst the crowd.

‘My God, how many people did he invite?’

Most of the people looked entirely unfamiliar. By the time Ralph was free of the most congested part of the crowd and into the much less populated stairwell, his wariness over the situation grew to substantially more sensible proportions_. _

‘Why in the hell am I following Merridew?’ He criticized himself for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening and yet it curiously did little to slow his steps. His frantic body moved of its own accord, unwavering eyes focused on the visage of red just ahead, now turning down a forlorn corridor.

Ralph finally did pause this time. The music was substantially quieter now, though its vibrations could still almost be felt through the floor, like the pounding of his own helpless heartbeat.

Was this really a good idea?

Before he could think of an answer to satisfy his brain, his body moved once more, hopelessly caught in the moment. Impulsive curiosity was currently stronger than caution. He glanced down another long corridor bathed in darkness, lit only by the moonlight as it cascaded through an open, large window, sheer drapes blowing precariously in the soft, chilling draft. The sight caused his body to shudder slightly, remembering other not-so-distant night. A body floating over the moonlit water. Before he could be dragged even further into his stomach-churning memories, he noticed Jack’s shadow as it pulled back the drapes even further, tucking them behind something.

The blonde stood, rooted to the ground as he watched, unsure as to what Jack was doing. Jack pitched a glance over his shoulder, though it was difficult to see.

“Coming?” He called back at him before turning back to swing the creaking window open even further, stepping up onto the ledge. Ralph watched on in confusion as Jack deftly climbed the rest of the way out the window. Instead of completely disappearing as he expected, he was carefully perched just outside, as if his feet had landed on something solid.

His interest building, Ralph finally broke free of his caution as he approached the window, surprised to see the bit of rooftop available straight from the window. The back of Jack’s head faced him as he carefully sat upon the slope. Ralph stepped out of the window, cautiously forcing his trainers within the gravely grain of the rooftop’s surface for traction.

His palms were now moist and his tense heart raced slightly with the elevated height. Standing next to the huddled figure of Jack, he finally lifted his eyes to survey the view. More inky blackness. The emptiness stretched on until it was abruptly met with the light of the neighbors—though even they grew less frequent as the night grew. His head inclined to survey the sky. There were more visible stars out here as opposed to the city. Their cold light spattered the vast hollowness before his eyes were drawn to the full moon casting its soft glow.

“Sit,” Jack ordered. His voice pierced through Ralph’s thoughts and back to the realization that he was standing on a dangerous rooftop. Feeling less inclined to follow through, but doing it anyway, Ralph sat, feeling the back of his jeans snag slightly upon the roof’s rough texture.

“You can actually hear yourself think out here,” Jack continued after a small stretch of silence between them.

Ralph perched his arms upon his knees before stealing a glance over at the other. He looked bared, like the unguarded appearance of sleep. Thoughtlessly vulnerable. Ralph shifted uncomfortably as the cold wind picked up, tousling their hair and loose clothing.

Ralph moistened his parched lips, looking once more out at the horizon.

“Nice party,” he spoke quietly, blunt sarcasm drying his words. “Where are the adults?” he couldn’t stop his somewhat mocking question, shocked at the slightly playful tone that his voice had conveyed. A tone that he had only used with Irene. He bit the side of his tongue, feeling ashamed with the awareness.

Jack’s lips curved slightly, still staring ahead. “Not here… Until the grown-ups come to fetch us, we’ll have our fun…” A breathy chuckle followed, surprisingly devoid of any sort of smugness.

Ralph peered over, dark reminiscence tugging at his heart toward Jack’s response over one of the first things that Ralph had said after being elected chief on that godforsaken island. So very long ago, it seemed. They unknowingly shared a meaningful smirk over one of the better memories that they had shared. Before everything went to shit.

Thoughts were interrupted when Ralph felt warm fingertips graze against the top of his hand resting against the rooftop. Ralph swallowed, keeping his hand perfectly still, silently enjoying the contact before the intruding fingers suddenly recoiled. “God, Ralph…you’re freezing,” Jack grunted.

Ralph finally moved his hand away, feeling his cheeks burn, just as he felt Jack sliding his body closer—so close that their arms barely touched. He could feel his heat all the same, and instead of feeling the usual pang of anxiety, his body began to relax. Despite the heartbeat pounding loud in his ears, another opposing feeling sank deep into his bones, despite being close to the very person who had once thrown a spear at him, aimed to kill.

Instead, like an idiot, he felt himself lean closer, lulled by the constant tide of Jack’s hot breath as it exhaled gently against the side of his face. Drawing closer still, Ralph’s skin prickled with an edging anticipation, a feeling that festered when he felt a heated mouth against the side of his throat. A hum of faint approval escaped the blonde’s throat as eyelids grew heavy, blanketing his world, focused entirely on the stir within his body that Jack managed to provoke. Ralph craned his neck in the slightest, mind fogged and overwhelmed with the pleasant feeling. The tip of Jack’s teasing tongue drew tiny circles into the flesh of his neck as his lips dragged softly against the skin, trailing a moist outline up past the side of Ralph’s jaw until he reached the lobe of his ear. He gently bit on the skin there and gently sucked before retreating. His hovering breath continued to invoke shivers along the wet skin.

Ralph shuddered as a cold wind stole some of their warmth, messing their hair. Red against gold. His eyes cracked open slightly, immediately detecting the tiny points of faraway stars in the sky, barely even registering the fact that he was being pulled down against the slope of the roof by persistent hands. Jack quickly shifted to hover above. The blonde was spellbound and offered little resistance as Jack lowered his body, pressing their bodies together before working a thigh between his quivering legs.

Jack released a husky sound of amusement when he felt the vibrations of the smallest of groans escape from the boy beneath him. One of his hands cupped the side of Ralph’s face as he moved closer. His lower lip touched Ralph’s thin upper one with only a humid strip of intermingled breath between them as he whispered. “You can’t deny it.”

Pausing to press a hard kiss against the motionless mouth before speaking again, Jack lifted away only to speak single words between kisses. “Not. Anymore.”

Pulling back, now a good distance, Jack’s fingers stroked the scattered blonde fringe from Ralph’s pale forehead, ignoring the set of eyes that trained upon him, growing harder with every word that he voiced. “You let me touch you… kiss you… want you.”

Here Jack grinned, a sliver of triumph and pride erupting beneath his soft words. “And you _like_ it.”

He was set on staining the skin beneath him, taking, biting, and licking. Fully intent on taking what belonged to him. What was rightly his. Intent was interrupted; however, when he felt a powerful force against his chest. Ralph’s face was flushed with anger as he brutally shoved him away.

Losing balance, he fell, feeling the vertigo of the slanted roof as the weight of his body refused to stop sliding down. Ralph panted, realizing his mistake with wide, panicked eyes as he rapidly scrambled towards Jack, clawing and snatching at his arm, stopping his fall and pulling him back to the safety of the motionless surface. The motion caused Jack to knock harshly and unintentionally against Ralph, their limbs colliding, painfully forcing the air from Ralph’s lungs as the weight of Jack’s body crushed him.

They stilled with sweating palms clutching at each other’s clothes, pulses pounding and catching their anxious breaths with the dangerous moment. By the time the strength of normalcy returned, Ralph was mortified upon feeling the vibrations of Jack’s quiet laughter as he neglected to pick himself up from him.

“See what I mean,” was all the redhead uttered before he repositioned himself over Ralph, now straddling his waist before leaning down to seal his mouth with his. Ralph made a noise of protest, his lungs still burning like hell after having the air knocked out of him.

Jack ignored him and only continued to dominate him, plunging in his tongue and pushing against Ralph’s. All the while, his fingers grooved painfully into his jaw, holding his struggling blonde still. Seconds slid by, but they felt torturously long as Ralph continued to push against him. His lungs were on fire now and he began to feel grossly lightheaded. With one final and desparate push against Jack while maneuvering his legs, he managed to flip them over.

Wasting no time, Ralph pinned Jack’s wrists hard against the rooftop, while drinking in sweet air. “Shit, Merridew!” he finally said after his lungs were somewhat satisfied. “Are you trying to suffocate me?”

He remained limp beneath Ralph, watching with smug amusement at the display. “Is that what I do to you?” His tone was smooth, yet faintly mocking. A broad smirk began to taint his expression.

Ralph yanked his wrists harshly to the side before releasing him with a flare of disgust. He carefully stood up on the now precarious rooftop, not trusting it one bit as he moved away from Jack and closer to the gaping, dark window. “Fuck off,” he muttered.

Jack stood up, much faster than Ralph had. The sly look never quite washed from his face as he made a grab for the escaping blonde before he could make it any closer to the window. His arms pulled his slender back flush against his chest, husky breath hitting the side of his face.

“Give me the time and place, Ralph,” Jack’s smirk grew when he felt the blond twisting away from his grasp.

“Ugh.” Ralph couldn’t help the noise of disgust as he freed himself from Jack’s arms, which began slightly more compliant after a few seconds of struggle. “God, I’m such an idiot… I don’t even know why I followed you here.”

Before Jack could stop him, Ralph made it in through the window, successfully this time, back in the safety of the dark corridor before immediately taking off.

“Oi! Where are you going?” Jack called back, suddenly feeling the hollowness of his once favorite hideaway creep back into his cold skin as Ralph continued to walk away. That wouldn’t do. He needed the rush. He needed it to smother the uncomfortable prickling emptiness that always remained. Jack quickly followed the blonde, scrambling through the window, barely catching himself before crashing against the hardwood of the floor.

Without even a backward glance, Ralph refused to slow in his aim for a quick departure, putting as much distance as he could between them. He didn’t even really think that Jack deserved a response, though one spouted from his mouth before he could think twice to deprive him.

“To find Eric.”

Glittering blue eyes narrowed as he attempted to catch up to the Ralph without actually running. He didn’t want to appear that desperate. Ralph’s response didn’t sit well with Jack as he began to further ruminate over why Ralph had come to the party with Eric at all. He wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t come to this suspicion sooner, as they were always sitting together during meals. A viciously tight, hot anger spread through his body. His fingers quaked slightly before they tightened into fists, nails biting into his palms.

“What do you need _him_ for?” Jack spat.

This time, Ralph really did ignore him as he turned down the corridor, a slight increase in speed within his footsteps. The music was getting louder and the lights were getting brighter, much to his satisfaction. He knew that he couldn’t be caught with Merridew in the shadowed corridors again.

_‘Little twat_.’ Jack simmered as he sprinted the last bit of space between them right before Ralph emerged into the bright stairwell. He reached out, roughly ensnaring Ralph’s arm before slamming him against the wall, accidently knocking the back of Ralph’s head against the structure. He groaned, feeling tender pain shoot through the back of his skull with the sharp contact. Jack held him by the shoulders, and Ralph grabbed him by the forearms. They stood still for a moment, fire within their gazes as their muscles strained against the other.

“Let me go!” Ralph shouted, struggling against the iron grip that Jack held over him.

“Never,” Jack snarled, pushing him against the wall once more as if to reaffirm his statement. Ralph felt himself freeze, feeling familiar apprehension filter through, like the reminiscent jungle’s moisture as it collected like dust over his skin, clinging and collecting like filth.

“You don’t understand,” Jack continued, his voice low and cutting. His eyes displayed little of the friendliness from before. Despite the harshness in his expression, one of his hands loosened upon Ralph’s shoulder. Satisfied in seeing that Ralph wasn’t making any move to escape, his palm pressed across his chest before turning south. His fingertips created horrible, sensuous patterns lower still. Gnawing on his bottom lip, Ralph tensed, now aware of Jack’s objective as his fingers first made contact with the top of his belt. Feeling a pool of heat in his cheeks, their eyes connected.

The redhead’s breathing changed slightly. It became a little quicker as his eyes flooded with want. His daring finger was now hooked within the belt as his thumb traced the outline of the buckle.

As if freshly woken, Ralph took this chance of Jack’s slackened hold and pushed his way past after slapping his hand away from the edge of his jeans. Ralph nearly stumbled in his haste down the stairs past the other party attendants. Jack remained behind, not making any move to follow, his atypical and thoughtful gaze trailing behind. He stood still. Irritatingly and undeniably still, his limbs were suddenly much heavier. His stomach felt as if it were filling with acid, burning through his insides.

After long minutes, Jack finally moved. He grabbed a couple of amber-colored bottles from the nearest cooler.

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The hours crept by and it was past midnight. Soon it would be closing in on the witching hour. Very few had left. If anything, the noises had escalated, and the crowd grew even rowdier. Eric was frightened by the growing display. He had already refused a drink at least a dozen times. Some of them were already opened and probably mixed with God knows what. When he finally did run into Sam, he was shocked to see that he wasn’t even wearing half of the same clothes that he had been upon arrival. At least the faded jeans were his, but the backwards, half buttoned shirt was a few sizes too big and it smelled like it had been drenched in a pool of sour liquor and vomit. A strange looking hat had also mysteriously appeared on top of his head. And of course his idiot girlfriend was nowhere to be found. Eric grumbled his irritation when Sam staggered straight into him, swinging his half emptied lager haphazardly through the air, nearly smacking him in the head with it.

“Theer you are, Eric,” Sam’s voice slurred. A stupid grin was plastered on his face as his glazed eyes found his twin’s.

“Dammit, Sam! How much did you have to drink?” Eric gaped, not at all enthused with seeing him tottering around like this. If he wasn’t the only seemingly sober one in the entire manor, he would have been embarrassed by his brother’s ridiculous behavior.

“Nodda ‘nuff,” Sam murmured as he moved to take another clumsy drink. Eric snatched the bottle away from his brother before it even reached his lips, earning a childish looking pout from him.

“You bloody well _have_ had enough,” Eric snapped, setting the bottle somewhere too out of reach for the sloshed Sam to retrieve it quickly enough. He turned back to him.

“Now where’s Ralph?” He demanded, suddenly hating how much he was currently sounding like their mum.

“Tho’ he was with you,” Sam said, the heels of his hands rubbing at his face.

Eric rolled his eyes. “Oh, well that’s just great. Now we have to go find him too before we get the hell out of here.”

“Nuuuuuu,” Sam whined, swinging his arm around Eric’s shoulders, putting all of his weight into it, nearly causing Eric to topple over. “But we’re having such a fun time!”

“Maybe you are. But I don’t want to wait around ‘till something bad happens.” Eric flipped his mobile out, while also precariously balancing Sam, searching for their older brother’s number. His fingers shook with how quickly he was trying to rummage through his contacts. Voices escalated and they heard the shattering of glass within the next room. His palms were now slick with nervous perspiration.

Sam giggled suddenly and uncontrollably, throwing Eric’s sullen mood off. He paused in his pursuit for the number, his eyes looking back up through slightly narrowed lids. “What’s so funny?”

“Guess what?” Sam released his hold from his brother before leaning forward, his eyes darting around conspiratorially before breaking into some sort of odd grin. “I just had sex for the first time. As in like fifteen minutes ago!”

Eric stared; his nose crinkled. “_Ugh_… why the hell do you think I’d want to know that?!” He snapped his mobile shut before returning it to his pocket, ranking his fingers agitatedly through his hair as he turned away from his obnoxious brother. Doing so forced his eyes to land on a familiar someone. His blood ran cold.

“Hello, Eric,” Roger drawled. A gleam entered his dark gaze.

He always could tell the twins apart.

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	11. Duality

_“The best thing for being sad is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.”_

_-T.H. White, The Once and Future King_

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Happiness is fleeting. In the end, it’s a foolish effort when the world is filled with people discovering new and interesting ways to hurt each other. Perhaps that’s why darkness has always lodged a sense of worry in others. Hell, it wasn’t even really the dark that they were afraid of, was it? It’s whatever happened to be hiding within.

What’s so wrong about being afraid of actual darkness itself? It’s nothing more than a mask. One that taunts and tempts the average do-gooders into things that normally would have remained unperformed deeds. Adhering to the obscure stirrings within their hearts, the desires that make them quiver and melt. Secret cravings and exploits held in careful check beneath society, things that would never be accepted. Darkness, untruths, and white lies were the masks that everyone wore in the end. People were weak.

That’s how Roger felt. He was well aware of the shivers as they ran up and down his spine, the kind that made him weak and breathless. They tormented him. Relentlessly. The urge drained into nearly all hours of the day and even into his sleep deprived nights. The barrier that held it back was no more than damaged film. In more ways than one, it was like losing his virginity. And he supposed that that’s exactly what it was. He discovered something that he was good at. He discovered what it was like to take a life. He took two. And nothing had excited him before or since then. The barrier to those desires had been pillaged, eliciting long, drawn-out excitement, and leaving only a bone-dry emptiness upon returning to his mundane, civil life.

With the restraints torn beyond recognition, the sickness seeped. He could feel the filth as it rested over his skin. He knew it was supposed to be disgusting. And in retaliation, he wanted nothing more than to spread it to those around him. His pulse always quickened upon seeing others around campus that he had left the undetectable residue. At least then it would leave him with a sense of contentment.

It was the closest he could get to happiness. Because happiness wasn’t real.

The same thrill hummed through his body as he shoved Eric against the side of the house. They were in the garden, tucked away in a precise spot where they wouldn’t be easily spotted. He had a firm grip over the boy’s arm as they walked, quickly losing the sloshed Sam somewhere amidst the crowd inside.

If Eric was worried about his brother, he didn’t say anything. He only tightened his face into a grimace, trying to keep up with Roger, fearful that his arm would be twisted out of its socket if he didn’t comply. He knew better than to put that beyond Roger.

The October air bit at their skin, but Roger didn’t seem to mind as he pushed against Eric against the brick once they’d made it, feeling every shallow indent of tissue and bone.

Eric bit his lip to keep from crying out when he suddenly felt the side of his head make sharp contact against the wall, facing the empty darkness of the side of the house. Something warm tickled down the side of his face. His eyes pricked with the consolation that at least Sam wasn’t in his position right now. It was getting harder to grasp onto that particular thought when he felt Roger’s calloused fingers digging painfully into his jaw, forcing him to look away, facing the other direction while he continued to press against him.

Roger’s fingers clawed at his skin even harder, craning his neck. Eric wordlessly complied, hoping to lessen the pressure behind those fingers. And it did, if only slightly. It was one of his techniques. Something that Eric or Sam never forgot. Eric felt the growing curve of Roger’s mouth against his neck at the conditioned response.

Roger on the other hand, felt the brief blush of power as it tore through his veins. He felt Eric squirm beneath his hold as he pressed his lower face into his neck, invading the natural cocoon of heat that it held. He could feel the tantalizing pulse of the vein beneath his lips, fancying that he could taste the blood resting beneath. The pulse quickened as Eric continued to fidget. Roger’s grip tightened, pressing harder against that stretch of breakable skin. Visions of a bristled, rougher hide invaded his mind. The air filled with the perfume of sweat, earth, and blood.

Roger’s eyelids grew heavy. The juices flooded his mouth and before thought caught up with his body, he parted his lips. The tip of his tongue slipped past, immediately pushing against and harshly tracing the outline of the teasing vein.

Eric started to struggle at the suddenly warm, slick feeling at his throat. A tiny whimper escaped as he tried to wriggle his way out of Roger’s grasp. His cheeks burned and embarrassment turned his stomach.

Roger clawed at his throat once more, knocking the back of his head sharply against the wall, ending the struggle.

Eric opened his mouth to voice… something… anything. Nothing, but a husky sound of protest. Eric felt more wetness against the side of his face, quickly concluding that he could die. Right here in Merridew’s sodding garden of all places. Fate really has a sick sense of humor.

‘Oh God… Oh God, please no…’ Eric mentally chanted as his gaze locked with Roger’s. Dark eyes. Eyes that stared, impassive with rare flickers of curiosity, taking in every detail that the pale boy with the crimson stained cheek had to offer.

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A rosy, pleasant feeling settled in Ralph’s body.

The warmth flooded and overwhelmed everything, enticing him to simply forget why his impression of the party had been so piss poor in the first place. Though, of course, he was far from being drunk. No, far from it, he would claim. And yet, it didn’t stop the world from looking a hell of a lot better than it did just a few short hours ago. Who knew that a drink or two… _or three_… would make such a difference? Even the other party goers seemed to be much friendlier than he had initially assumed.

And, why was he so upset in the first place?

The thought caused a small laugh to escape as misplaced giddiness spread through his body. He shrugged away the hint of worry wedged within the back of his mind. Thoughts were becoming more difficult to keep straight, but it became less of a bother as he concentrated only on bringing the mouth of the bottle to his lips once more, accepting the liquid burn as it slid down his throat, settling warmly within his stomach and spreading.

It had taken at least two bottles before the faint trembling in his hands had finally stilled after his encounter with Jack. His pulse was calm and low as the fear melted away. Even his bones felt weak, all warm and gooey on the inside. A silly smile creep over his face as the person in front of him went on talking. Good God, he’d already been talking for a solid hour or so.

Wait… who the hell was he talking to? He couldn’t even remember the bloke’s name and he was sure that he’d already asked for it at least three times. Shit. Ralph’s smile broke away for a moment as his brows furrowed in half-hearted concentration.

Why couldn’t he think?

Looking back up at the unknown teenager who continued to talk to him about something or other, Ralph took in his sharply angled features. Nothing about him was even vaguely familiar and judging by his dyed hair and multiple silver piercings lining his ears, they most definitely did not attend the same school. He wondered why he was even here before taking another drink, concentrating once more on the feeling as it seared down his throat.

Ralph was startled to find the sudden presence of hot breath against his face. Soon after, he found himself falling flat against the wall. Since when had he been on this side of the room? Well at least the wall broke his fall, right? Oh, bugger.

The teenager with the strange hair peered at Ralph. “You really can’t hold your drink,” he teased. Something akin to amusement flickered across his eyes before adding, “Well, for this being your first time drinking, you’re really putting them away.”

For the first time in what seemed like hours, Ralph actually looked at him, his gaze sobering somewhat. “I told you that?” The question came out rather clear despite the sudden dryness of his mouth. Confusion illuminated briefly before alarm set in.

Where was he exactly? And what the fuck was he doing with this stranger?

The blonde ran the back of his hand agitatedly across his glossy eyes as a light sweat broke shone upon his brow. The other watched his every move with an uncomfortable intensity before chuckling. “Want another drink? Looks like you could use one.”

“You’re the one giving these to me?” Ralph was somewhat surprised at how clear that came out, clearer than before. Perhaps he wasn’t as plastered as he thought, but that still didn’t explain the memory loss.

The stranger only leaned in closer, a strange expression crossing his face before tapping two fingers not so gently against Ralph’s forehead. “And where have you been for the past hour?” His eyes lit with a pseudo-wounded look while leaning against the wall alongside him.

‘That’s what I’d like to know_,’ _Ralph thought semi-coherently, leaning further away. The other didn’t seem to take the hint; however, or perhaps he was just as loosely mentally inclined as Ralph was at the moment.

The blonde looked off to the side, attempting to remember who it was that he was looking for before apparently deciding to have a drink. Muddled thoughts were interrupted with the warm pressure of a hand pressed against his front, fingers tracing along the edge of his ribcage before pressing against his side. Ralph moved sluggishly away, his reaction time useless at this point, though his progress was stopped with the tightening of the intrusive hand.

“So—“ the hot, acrid breath cascaded down the side of his face. “—you and Merridew?”

A flare of annoyance at the whispered implication was enough to bring a bit more life to the sudden denseness in his limbs.

“W-What?! No! Who told you that? … I’ is complete rubbish.” Ralph attempted to properly glare at the stranger, though had little confidence that it actually came across as one. His eyelids felt heavy.

The teenager laughed. His grip loosened, though not enough to alleviate the implications. Fuck implications. Even with his alcohol riddled mind, he knew what that hand wanted as it trailed and groped, dipping into the slight incline of his backside. Flinching at the bold touch, Ralph automatically shoved the invasive fingers away as his eyes drifted about the room. No one else seemed to notice, all of them nearby either in much worse or equal states of sobriety as him.

“So, he’s already done with you? That was quick.” The teenager laughed breathily, the stench of liquor and something sour wafting from his close face. “—though’ for sure you’d last longer than that,” he smiled.

“Still up for some more? Y’seem like y’still have some left to give.”

Ralph was about to ask what the hell he was talking about until he felt a wet muscle of a tongue against his ear, tracing sloppily along the maze of skin until it ended at his neck, eliciting an unpleasant shiver. The blonde shoved away from him, muttering something between a “no thanks” and a “fuck you,” though he wasn’t quite sure how it came out. He hoped to God that it sounded like the latter.

The other boy only grinned. A strange half grunt, half snort escaped his lips as the same bruising hand pulled Ralph’s body closer. “Bet you’re still tight,” the slurred words matched with his hoarse voice were probably meant to be an odd form of dirty enticement. For Ralph; however, it held all the allure of putrid cesspools.

“Ge’ off me, bastard,” the blond pushed him away with a surprising amount of strength given his current slowness. The shove sent the teenager straight into a drunk couple exchanging heated words. The argument quickly shifted, turning into a shoving match between the two males, while the girl threatened to break her bottle over one of their heads if they didn’t stop.

Ignoring them, Ralph made his way unsteadily into the nearest corridor, common sense screaming through his clouded brain that he should probably find a toilet before the curdling in his stomach became too much to handle. He stumbled into what he thought was the right room, though it was too dark to tell. His hand skimmed along the papery surfaced wall searching for the outline of a switch.

Faint rustling caught his ear and he turned, surveying the shadowed forms of a large desk and surrounding chairs. By the moon’s faint light from a nearby uncovered window, he noticed that the walls were lined with mahogany bookcases with large volumes occupying the crevices. And someone was lounging haphazardly on top of the desk. Stepping closer, Ralph caught a feeble sight of the ever recognizable blazing red hair and half-lidded, unfocused eyes before detecting the state of the room. It had been ransacked.

“What are you doing here?” Ralph spoke before he could think, his words meshing together.

Jack raised his head from the desk, looking even more confused than before as he gave his equally incoherent reply. “What the hell are you talking about—I can be here if I want. This is my fucking house.”

Ralph blinked, the flush spread to the back of his neck. “Right.”

“Come here,” Jack whispered. He moved from where he was lying, sitting up on the cluttered desk. A new idea had formulated amidst drunken thoughts and his gaze was burning. He felt impulsive. He wanted to be reckless.

Ralph stood motionless for several seconds. “What for?”

Despite the protest, he drew closer, leaving the door ajar. Jack smiled, leaning further back, his elbows supporting him from behind. Jack looked up at him from beneath his dark fringe, waiting. Smug satisfaction began to sour when the blonde just stood there in front of him without moving further.

Releasing an irritated sigh, Jack sat himself up. He grabbed a hold of Ralph’s hips and gave a violent tug so that the front of his thighs collided harshly with the edge of the desk between Jack’s legs. Bringing his arms around the blonde’s frame, he pushed their bodies together, the edge of his nose burying in the warm scent of Ralph’s shirt. Jack’s fingers slid between his shoulder blades.

“Apparently, you’re a rather stupid drunk,” the redhead scoffed.

He fisted the back of Ralph’s shirt, pulling his body over his, lying back on the desk. He felt the gasp of Ralph’s breath against his face, hovering over him. The shadows deepened over his expression and the only thing that could really be seen were traces of pale hair hanging over his brow.

Ralph paused, wondering how exactly he went from standing in the doorway to looming over Jack on top of the desk. Jack made no move, laying back in a drunken show of submission, although it didn’t quite appear to be that by the way his eyes seemed to glitter in the scant light pouring over their bodies.

“Do it,” he whispered.

Confusion crossed the blond’s eyes. He attempted to lift himself away from the situation that made his insides tremble. He felt the pressure of Jack’s hands over his forearms before he could move away any further.

“I want to see you do it,” Jack’s voice took an angry turn, but remained low.

“Of course you do,” Ralph said. His pulse quickened, this time with irritation. “Then you can convince yourself that you’re not molesting me at every chance. If I start anything, then we’re both in this.” His voice tapered off, the sick fluttering in his stomach growing.

Jack’s laughter rang out beneath him, bitter and amused. “You and your stupid logic. You’re already in this. We’re both in this. We’re the fucking same! The only difference is that you prefer to lie to yourself.”

Jack’s grasped Ralph’s jaw, drawing him lower, face to face with him. Ralph pushed back off the desk, standing up and nearly colliding with the bookshelf. As quickly as Ralph regained his senses, Jack was before him, pinning him against the books with his body.

He muttered something, probably a string of curses, before shoving his tongue into Ralph’s slightly open mouth, furiously working it into submission. Ralph could taste the lager on his tongue mixed with something spicy and warm. Like their previous kisses, it was wet and hard. With alcohol and adrenaline still racing through his blood, heat bloomed heavily between his legs.

Jack’s mouth slid away from his, staggering violently to the side as if someone had pushed him. Murderous blue eyes looked around, ready to maim whoever had dared to sneak up on him.

Wiping away saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, Ralph also glanced about, confused by Jack’s odd reaction. There was no one there.

Turning back toward Ralph, Jack’s complexion paled considerably. Guessing as to what was going to happen next, Ralph quickly moved away, barely missing the vomit.

“Oh for the love of—“ Ralph groaned, covering his nose and mouth.

He couldn’t see it, thank God, but he could hear and smell the mess hitting the hardwood floors mixed with the occasional painful gag and violent retch. Just hearing it made his throat hurt. The room’s air filled with acrid bitterness found in backwater pubs. Frozen to the spot, Ralph waited until the heaves faded before daring to look back at Merridew. He was leaning over the floor, clutching at the wall, looking very much like he was going to pass out.

Tentative, Ralph approached him.

“I should just leave you the way you are… swimming in your own filth,” he muttered, though felt little conviction. He waited, listening to the dying sounds of the party just outside, slowly releasing a thoughtful breath, focusing his gaze back on the crippled shadow of a boy.

Grasping Jack’s arm, he pulled him hard, bringing him to his feet, though allowed him to lean against him. Without words, they left the study, stumbling unfocused into the hallway.

“Tell me where your room is,” Ralph said.

There was a long pause, and for a moment Ralph was afraid that he wasn’t going to answer until he mumbled a barely coherent answer, “Second floor, first door on the right.”

Well, that was somewhat vague, considering the size of this house… but Ralph wasn’t easily daunted. They made it up the stairs with great difficulty, with Jack drunk and nearly unconscious, while Ralph was still a bit shaky himself. There were many uneasy steps and nearly running into crochet decorated side tables lining the corridors, but they eventually made it to an area where Jack grunted.

Ralph took that as an affirmative. He put much more effort than it should take to open a door now that Jack was practically leaning all of his body weight into him.

There was more stumbling in the dark before Jack made it to his bed. Ralph, somewhat satisfied, turned to finally leave. Jack’s finger’s clawed into his arm, stopping him.

“Wait—“ Jack said, his voice breathy and small. Ralph turned back, regarding him cautiously. His blue eyes were wide and a bit bloodshot. With his mask melted into nothing, he looked no more menacing than a frightened child—startled, alone, and distant.

“—Don’t go.” His hand dropped, releasing Ralph’s arm, pleading now only with drowsy eyes. “Just don’t. Stay here.”

Despite his efforts to ignore it, Ralph’s heart pinched. Just a little.

“F-Fine,” his harsh whisper resounded, disregarding the pressure in his chest when he acquiesced.

Jack relaxed back into his bed, the strange expression still haunting him.

His head began to pound as he searched Jack’s room for a suitable place to rest. Just for a little while—he reminded himself. Spying the window seat, he opened the drapery and cracked open the side windows for fresh air before resting against the few pillows lining the cushion.

‘Just until he’s asleep… Then, I’m off for good…’ his thoughts drifted.

He was gone barely before he turned to his side, curling comfortably against the slight chill of the night wafting through the opened windows.

Both were out cold within seconds and neither moved again for several hours.

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Jack smelled something that he hadn’t smelled in a while, something flowery and sweet. A scent that belonged only within the framework of his childhood, a nice memory before everything happened. It was a memory that he wanted to be left untouched and untainted. Unlike the rest of him. The smell tugged at his mind, prying the memory loose like misshapen pearls from stubborn oysters. When it came loose, a small rush of warmth went through him.

_Yes_—that’s what it was. His mother used to tend to a large flowerbed when he was little. When she was a mother. Little evidence now remained of her prior softness, of her pretty smile. The servants now took it upon themselves to keep a carefully prim handful of rosebushes just outside of his window. Well, not exactly just outside, as his room is on the second floor, but close enough.

The smell is what woke him, dragging him confusedly, bleary-eyed from the inky black nothingness of sleep into the miserable world that awaited. Only, the smell in his dreams didn’t vanish like it should have.

Jack looked about confused, fragments of memory from the night before flashed before him, though made little sense and didn’t explain how he even ended up in his room. His hand automatically reached to his side, satisfied to find the sheets empty. At least he didn’t have to throw anyone out.

It still didn’t feel right, though. Something felt off. It was then that he finally realized that his draperies and windows were open, judging by the harsh morning light and flowery air, making his already sore mind and body pound in agony.

“Uhhh—Fuuuuck,” Jack moaned, dragging himself out of bed, nearly falling to the floor when the sheets tangled around his legs. Making his way like the living dead, he practically dragged his putrid, dirty self into the shower. It took at least two scrubbings before he felt clean. His clothes were rancid and stiff as he peeled them off. His mouth felt like it was coated in slime; _fucking hell_, it tasted like vomit.

He swallowed two pills to quiet the dense, resonating hammering in his head after thoroughly cleaning his teeth. Twice. It’s funny how methodical he now was with hygiene, considering his love for all things grimy when he was younger.

Walking back into his room in a fresh change of clothes, he just then noticed the curled up, sleeping body on his window seat. That probably explained the open windows. Confusion addled his brain, but Ralph’s face was the one clear thing about last night after the rooftop, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be perturbed. The last thing he expected, though, was for the blonde to actually have the guts to stick around. Surprise was soon replaced by an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling in Jack’s chest.

For the first time in a very long while, he didn’t want to bother him.

Feeling awkward, he quietly began to gather his scattered schoolbooks near the window seat because they just happened to be there. _That’s all_. It had absolutely nothing to do with the boy sleeping there. None whatsoever.

Jack crouched low to pick up the book bag strewn across the floor. In the corner of his eye, he could see Ralph’s sleeping expression. He hadn’t noticed the tired lines there before or the slight bags under his eyes. Wasn’t he getting enough sleep?

Feeling heat rise in his face for doing so, Jack leaned closer, his attention now fully focused on the unmoving expression—so different from the tense one usually worn by its owner. Before he could stop himself, the tips of his fingers touched the side of Ralph’s face. His hand flinched away when he realized what he was doing. The movement caused the sluggish opening of Ralph’s eyelids. A look of alarm passed over his eyes as he shot forward. Unfortunately for both of them, Ralph’s forehead to collide hard with Jack’s temple.

Jack cried out. The previous throbbing returned with a vengeance along with a fresh wave of sickness. Ralph wasn’t fairing much better. He slowly swung his feet to the floor, but his right palm was rubbing his pounding head with tender, slow motions as he groaned.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ralph mumbled, his speech slurred from sleep.

Jack didn’t answer for a long while. Not until his brain felt like it could function without sluicing around too terribly against his skull.

“I wasn’t molesting you if that’s what you’re getting at.” He managed to coherently speak, his tone lacking the usual sting. “What are you doing here, anyhow?” Jack asked quietly, though the demand still lingered.

“You asked me to stay.” Ralph was staring at the floor.

“I did? Can’t really remember anything past the rooftop.” He seemed genuinely confused. Ralph glanced at him, a little surprised, but also not completely so, considering how plastered he was.

“Well… I’m off,” Ralph said, his tired voice soft and scratchy. He slipped from his place at the window seat.

“Wait,” Jack almost shouted, his hand automatically reaching forward to grab Ralph’s arm. There was an awkward pause in the tension filled air. “Will you… stay with me?”

Ralph’s expression was unreadable. “Why?”

Ignoring his question, Jack continued to speak, his eyes a strange mixture of intensity and embarrassment. His cheeks slowly darkened. “We can have breakfast… if you’d like?” Since when did he ever ask if Ralph _‘_would like’ to do anything? “Or… I can give you a ride?”

The blonde paused. Breakfast did sound good. Anything with substance to stop the sick quivering of his empty stomach. In either case, he was sorely without food or a ride, so either would be acceptable. But staying with Jack? He wasn’t so sure about that.

He arched a lazy eyebrow at the expectant redhead. “I don’t think you’re really in any condition to be driving, Merridew.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You were plastered last night, and you’re obviously hungover right now. I wouldn’t let you drive me twenty yards.” His voice was flat.

Jack exhaled harshly, obviously agitated. “Well, fine then. Would you at least like to ring someone up?”

Ralph paused, suddenly aware that who he could call was extremely limited. God only knows if Sam and Eric even arrived home last night. Irene was gone for the weekend. The more he realized his limited options, the more an uncomfortable feeling took over as the emptiness resounded.

Jack felt his stomach drop just a little when the strained silence prevailed between them. He scratched at the back of his head before speaking again. “Listen… uh… how about we just grab something to eat here and you can use the phone whenever you’d like. Sounds like a plan, yeah?”

Jack had a feeling that Ralph didn’t really want to answer him, so he ended the awkward pause by leaving the room, his ears straining to hear Ralph’s soft footsteps as they hesitantly followed him out. He led him to the kitchen, his eyes occasionally straying to the maids cleaning the remnants of the party, some of them shoving random articles of strewn clothing into plastic bags to be thrown out. Jack heard a soft snort from Ralph and their arms accidently brushed. The redhead felt a ridiculous amount of heat from that. His cheeks felt feverish; only growing worse when he realized that he was actually blushing. He never blushed.

When they reached the kitchen, he saw that the old cook had returned, already forming dough with her hands. She looked up from her work at the two. “Jack, there you— oh hello, there,” her voice grew suddenly pleasant when she noticed the fresh face. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, though she also looked confused, as visitors were rare.

“Hello, ma’am,” Ralph returned her friendly smile, his hair still slightly disheveled from sleep. It made Jack want to grab at it—to run his fingers through the familiar soft strands.

“May I help with anything?” Ralph asked.

The cook paused, before chuckling a little. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever offered to help in the kitchen. “Can you knead dough?”

“Of course.” Ralph grabbed at a long washrag to tie around his waist when the cook had gestured for him to put one on. Ambling over to the other side of the counter, the old woman handed him a lump of dough to start working on.

Jack scoffed, brow furrowing slightly. “You can’t be serious.”

Ralph shot Jack a brief glare before continuing to press and fold the dough. “Care to do something useful instead of standing around?”

Jack stared at him, unsure if he should be more astonished that Ralph dared to speak to him like that or more angry that he _was_ speaking to him like that. In the end, he couldn’t decide, so he only muttered something incoherent before walking over the fridge to gather the half full jar of preserves, cream, and eggs.

The cook snuck a sideways glance at Ralph, who was contentedly kneading the dough as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Never in all her years of working here… Never did she ever witness Jack tolerate instruction from others, no matter how indirect. This was a pleasant first. Her wrinkled smile grew wider and her kneading grew more rigorous.

When Jack came back and set the things down on the counter next to the pair, the corner of Ralph’s mouth quirked, still staring down as he worked the dough. “Thanks.”

Jack only grumbled something under his breath as another vicious blush raided his face.

It wasn’t long before the dough was soon rolled out and cut with medium-sized glasses. The mounds of dough were soon resting on a metal sheet and pushed into the oven. The cook began making quick work of the eggs while Ralph cleaned the countertops. Jack was currently leaning into one of the stools, his ever-unashamed gaze following the blonde as he worked. Ralph untied the cloth from around his waist and his eyes briefly met Jack’s, forcing them both to avert their gazes soon after.

While sitting down to eat, Jack noticed that Ralph slathered an explicit amount of raspberry preserves over his scone but is surprisingly clean when he eats it. All these little details he took in with oddly meticulous interest. They were alone at the table and Jack felt a certain tugging within when he noticed a bit of red smeared over Ralph’s lower lip.

“What?” The blond gave him a scant look, noticing that he had been staring now for a minute.

Impatient and wanting, Jack pulled his chin toward him, enveloping his mouth in a greedy kiss. His tongue gathered the raspberry and cream on Ralph’s sticky lip. Ralph didn’t respond for a moment, taken off-guard. His cheek felt warm beneath his fingertips and he couldn’t stop. Jack was insatiable. He kissed Ralph like he wanted to devour him.

Ralph pulled away, forcing Jack to end it prematurely. His mouth is shining with saliva and he’s panting softly. Jack was about to pull him forward once more until Ralph gripped painfully at his leg beneath the table. And it’s only then that he heard a familiar pair of boots down the corridor just outside the dining area.

A tall man emerged at the entrance. He was meticulously dressed in an expensive-looking business suit matched with a cold stare. The color of his eyes was identical to Jack’s, but the resemblance ended there. He was of a darker complexion, powerfully built, and attractive for his age. But it was his eyes and the way that they glanced at them from across the room that sent chills down Ralph’s spine. The stony discontentment, the sharp-edged apathy, and the hollowness all resounded clearly.

“Jack,” the man said, his voice icy.

The color drained from Jack’s face with the man’s tone. There was a shade of profound fear that flashed across Jack’s eyes, something that even Ralph had yet to see.

“Hello, Father,” he muttered.

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	12. Threshold

"_At some point, you have to make a decision. Boundaries don't keep other people out. They fence you in. Life is messy. That's how we're made. So, you can waste your lives drawing lines. Or you can live your life crossing them."_

_-Shonda Rimes_

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An unnerving silence followed the brief exchange between Jack and Mr. Merridew. A greeting of colleagues instead of a father with his son. It wasn't long before the older man's gaze slipped over Ralph. The tension entered his chest and Ralph suddenly had the urge to straighten out any wrinkles in his clothes, brushing the invisible crumbs of his half-eaten scone. Even though there clearly wasn't a mess, the way that Mr. Merridew regarded him made it feel as if he were thoroughly inadequate in his presence.

"And who are you?" his voice was low and straightforward. He clearly didn't waste his words on pleasantries.

"Ralph, sir… Medevane."

Mr. Merridew's expression tightened. "Elizabeth's son?"

He spoke in a clipped manner. Ralph froze for a moment, his throat seizing in the slightest at the response. When he spoke, he could feel a small, shaking quality beneath his words. "You knew my mother?"

"I did. For a time. I went to her funeral," he muttered, spoken as if it were a distasteful affair. "She deserved better."

Hearing that, Ralph could only guess at what he was eluding to. His fingers tightened briefly in his lap, nails biting into his palms. But it also brought back that memory of the strange, tall man that had arrived late, in his slick jacket and smart, brimmed hat. Ralph remembered his words on that rainy day as he stood in the mud while his mother's body was being swallowed by the dark, slippery earth.

_What a fucking waste. _

Jack's eyes wandered between the two of them, ever vigilant in his observation. His mouth was tight, betraying no reaction to whatever was being transferred between Ralph and his father.

"She was a lovely woman. A bit wild for her station; nothing that couldn't be remedied by a firm hand, a well-matched husband." His eyes were fixed on Ralph for a moment, his gaze measuring features, little quirks about his face.

"You take after her. I should have guessed that you were hers." The smallest hint of something touched Mr. Merridew, recalling a ghost exactly how he chose to see her. Something not quite so severe entered his gaze, but it was lost just as quickly as it had appeared. Ralph had a feeling that if his mother had been this man's instead of his father's, that her fire might've been doused. Perhaps not right away, but slowly over many years. A slow death of her spirit. He wondered if that's what happened to Mrs. Merridew.

Mr. Merridew's eyes regained the likeness of stone when he seemed to remember that Jack was in the room and shot him a look. "I was unaware that Jack had any friends. So, I'm assuming it was the very unfortunate aeroplane accident that introduced the two of you. Quite tragic."

The way he spoke of their being stranded on the island, it sounded as if he were commenting on the dreary weather. The fantastic lack of concern was noted, but Ralph was used to that from his own father. Anything regarding their time on the island in the eyes of the adults was only referred to as an accident or an incident, and nothing more. Nothing unfortunate was ever discussed in length to lessen the discomfort that abounded from such subjects. Ralph also wasn't entirely shocked to learn that Mr. Merridew would have known that Ralph, himself, was one of the survivors. For a time, there were many news articles about them after the rescue.

"I… now attend the same school as Jack," Ralph responded politely, offering up a better explanation for why he was here, and their current association with each other.

"Very good. A sensible choice." Mr. Merridew regarded the two a bit longer before giving a barely perceivable nod, reminiscent of vague dismissal. "I have business to attend. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ralph."

Ralph knew that Mr. Merridew had only voiced his appreciation for something else, a glimpse of a ghost that had likely long stopped visiting his subconscious. But he nodded politely all the same, a touch of a frown over his features as the man left.

Jack's lips remained bloodless with how tightly they remained pressed together, his expression a visage of ice. And it only thawed minutes after the man had taken his leave. He pushed away his half-finished plate of food. His eyes remained on the table, the subtle tapping of his fingers against the wood.

There were no words in Ralph's throat, so he gulped down his tea instead, suddenly wanting to be away from the stark white walls that surrounded them, the perfection in the immaculate decorations, and the chilling way that he began to realize how much the Merridew manor reflected a prison. A pristine prison.

Ralph cleared his throat in the oppressive silence that followed after he'd started drinking his tea, now starting to become lukewarm the longer they sat.

"You said that you could give me a ride?” His voice sounded a little odd, strained and quiet.

Jack nodded, crumpling his napkin before tossing it on the dining table. Wordlessly, he invited Ralph to follow him with the slight tilt of his head, standing up and not even bothering to push his chair back into its rightful place.

Sucks to house rules. And sucks to being polite.

Ralph followed him, but dutifully pushed in their chairs for both of them, thinking more about the elderly cook who had prepared the scones and tea for them.

He followed Jack down a few stairs and turned a couple corridors until they reached what he assumed to be the garage, although it looked more like a car shop with the large number of vehicles staged inside.

After Jack flicked on the lights and opened the garage door for more natural light, Ralph could more clearly see the extent of Mr. Merridew's collection. His mouth was slightly agape, astonished at the clear display of wealth. The average family in the whole of Great Britain during this time could hardly afford a full-sized vehicle, let alone several of them. He walked further inside, wandering a bit between some of them, noting the sleek models and the bright colors.

"This is… This is incredible," he whispered, his fingertips daring to graze along the detail work of a royal blue Ford Anglia. Ralph glanced up at Jack, unable to hide how impressed he was.

Jack shrugged, a strain between his shoulder blades, giving Ralph a glance as if he, indeed, found this all very dull.

"An old man needs his hobbies, I suppose. Although, I would say that this is a minor one of his." Jack's words were edged with a soft bitterness, and Ralph could only guess at the truer words between his enigmatic ones.

"None of these are yours, correct?" Ralph raised a brow at that, unsure what exactly Jack had meant previously when he said that he could give him a ride wherever he pleased. God help him if Jack actually had a bleeding vehicle at seventeen, the great bastard that he already was.

"Actually… my little trinket is over here," Jack responded with all the enthusiasm of the dead as he led him to the other side of the large garage, to something substantially smaller than a full-sized vehicle, covered by canvas. He pulled it back to reveal something that Ralph had yet to see in person. Only the sort of beautiful renderings that he'd seen in photos and heard from others. A beautiful, bright red Triumph motorcycle.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me…" Ralph muttered, giving Jack a dubious side-eyed glance. "Do you normally receive gifts of this magnitude? It's little wonder that you're such an entitled arse, Merridew."

Ralph snorted softly with the last statement. Jack laughed, albeit a hint of that same bitterness mixed with the genuine enough sound of amusement.

"Language, language," Jack tutted, mock chastising him as he moved to lean slightly against the plush leather seat, his long fingers trailing along the edge before he comfortably folded his arms over his chest. "And I wouldn't call it a gift, per say. Perhaps a peace offering, or hush money would be a more appropriate term for it."

"For what?" Ralph's question came out more quietly than he had intended, his mind already flooding with the possibilities for why Jack would need to be silenced.

"You ask too many questions." Jack scoffed, although that usual fire that he carried around with him was more subdued than usual in that moment.

"What? You're telling me that the great Jack Merridew was successfully bought off?" Ralph couldn't help the slight jeer, hiding the heightened curiosity that Jack's refusal to answer him had brought.

The corners of Jack's lips curled, an almost vicious display as he reached for his keys on the side workbench nearby, tossing them lightly before catching them with a soft metallic clink.

"What I'm _saying_ is that not every precocious little blonde twat may be privy to my secrets." He leaned forward, the back of his free fingers trailing along Ralph's jaw. "No matter how tempting they are."

Ralph scoffed and pushed back Jack's fingers. "You're unbelievable."

Jack's eyes brightened with amusement and he straddled his bike, inserting the key and starting up the ignition, feeling it roar to life between his legs. "So, did you want a ride out of here or not? I could leave you with my father all alone in this big house if you'd prefer."

Ralph gave him a look, but he knew that there was no real debate there. He desperately wanted to be out of this place, as much as he tried to hide it. And Jack was offering him an out.

He must've seen the decision already lining his face, because Jack pated the seat behind him and was already reaching for one of the helmets lining the shelves nearby. Ralph took the moment to straddle the seat behind Merridew and grasped the second helmet when it was offered to him. It took him a few tries to get the straps on properly, never having done anything of the sort before. Jack showed him where to put his feet and once they were all settled, Ralph was decently mortified when Jack immediately started to wrap Ralph's arms around his torso.

When Ralph pulled his arms away, simply by instinct, it earned an exasperated sigh from Jack. "Don't be stupid. It's to save your own useless neck."

Reluctantly acknowledging that Jack was right, Ralph wrapped his arms around him snugly, the warmth of Jack's back crept into his torso as he could feel the slightest tightening and movement of his muscles as he started forward at a slow and steady pace out of the garage and maneuvered onto the main street.

The feeling was incredible, the whip of the wind in his face as they passed, how it swept and grabbed at their clothes. Matched with the satisfying reverberation of the engine against the inside of their thighs, Ralph found that he rather liked how it felt to be riding one of these. It was only when Jack would slow down at a light that he could hear his shouted words. "Where do you want to go?"

Ralph knew that he should direct him back to Sam and Eric's home, since that's where he left his bag of overnight belongings and the two who would probably be the most worried about his whereabouts, he didn't exactly feel like going back. At least for a while. His heart was racing when he responded on impulse, "I don't know. Anywhere."

He could almost feel Jack's smirk as he raced off down the road once the light turned green.

It took a few moments longer for Ralph to realize that Jack was bringing them into the city, and their speed slowed substantially, abiding to the more strictly held traffic laws. The idea of Jack following any set of rules, no matter how severely implemented was amusing to him.

As they made their way into the heart of the city, Jack found a street-side open space to park and the life faded from the vehicle as he turned the ignition off. Ralph was already freeing the helmet from his head, immediately feeling that his hair was quite the mess, but he didn't care much. Not when Jack's was a pile of unrestrained fire after his was also pulled off. After securing the helmets beneath the back seat, Jack pushed his keys into his coat pocket as he barely waited for Ralph to get situated before they were off down the walkway.

The view of the ocean from the cobblestoned pavement was immediate and Ralph could smell and feel the salt of it sticking to his skin. He remembered this feeling well, only it was a whisper of a memory from the island. Here, it was simply different, but still familiar enough to make his skin crawl. Jack didn't seem to notice at all, but his gaze was trapped briefly over a shop front that was selling sweets.

"Want an ice cream?" Jack asked, no hint of the irritable and mocking boy that he'd been for the past several months now at school. Ralph wondered if it was because there was no one around to notice. He blinked.

"Ah… sure," Ralph responded, the end of his reply almost sounding like a question. Jack gave a short smirk and went into the tiny shop without another word, although Ralph could've sworn that he noticed the smallest hint of red over Jack's cheeks before he'd turned so abruptly.

Ralph decided to wait close to the shop, drawing closer to the stone edge of a railing that overlooked the docking bay leading out to the vast and untamed sea. He leaned forward, feeling more of that dangerously familiar salty, unrestrained air. He took in a few deep breaths, gathering more of it to ward off the uneasiness that it gave him. It came with memories of wild, dripping green, the choking of the smoke embracing him, and the pain in his lungs as he pushed himself to run... run... _run_.

Moments later, he heard the last half of his name being called out before Jack nearly pummeled into his side with a twist of his lips, jolting Ralph from his vivid recollection, his fingertips pressing hard into the stone edge, scratching his skin as his heart raced in an ugly manner with the memory.

"Here, I got you vanilla. It matches how boring and predictable you are," Jack taunted with a wide grin, although he held out the small cone delicately. The normalcy of the statement forced the blonde to calm.

Despite the teasing from Jack, Ralph's heart quickened for a different reason with the gesture and he carefully took the cone from him. "Thank you. No one's ever bought me an ice cream before," he muttered with the odd realization. Ice cream was only steadily becoming popular at this time, so it was considered a true treat. For Ralph, it was an absolute rarity. It wasn't as if he had anyone at home who would take him out for anything so frivolous.

Jack simply looked at him for a moment, an expression that Ralph couldn't quite read, before turning his attention to the sea, taking a bite at the top of his own chocolate flavor. Ralph's elbows perched on the stone edge of the fence as he tried his own, savoring the creamy sweetness.

"You certainly pay me, someone who's terribly boring, an exorbitant amount of attention, by the way," Ralph responded a moment later, a laugh almost touching his voice.

"I like you," Jack muttered matter-of-factly, not skipping a beat, and not sounding at all abashed for his words. "I've always liked you, you know. It's you that didn't like me."

The almost-laugh died in Ralph with Jack's response, a rare moment of directly bringing up something from the island, something that was forbidden conversation between most of the survivors, even for someone like Jack who simply didn’t care for any semblance of restriction.

Ralph paused, his ice cream temporarily forgotten, feeling the cold drips down the side of his fingers. His eyes remained tightly on the sea. "I don't think it's a person's natural instinct to hurt someone that they like."

"You hurt me first," Jack replied, looking straight at Ralph, and noticing that Ralph wasn't looking at him back. "You didn't accept me; you never did. And I beg to differ on your point. I think people hurt the ones they care about all the time. Intentionally or not. I just—" he growled softly, pushing his fingers through his bright red hair as he seemed to be searching for the words. "I just… really want you... A small part of me will always want to _be_ you, a piece of what everyone always finds so admirable. I'll always want that. You're all that's lovely and enviable in this fucked up world. I know I'll never be like that… I want different things, I run after different things. I am different. But a part of me will always want to belong. Even if the other part of me doesn't."

Ralph finally brought his eyes over to Jack, searching and listening, even long after he finished his thoughts. The silence stretched and the breeze tickled at their faces. Ralph's heartbeat felt more noticeable as he watched Jack, a foreign and terrifying sort of heat gnawing at his insides. It had been a frightening and growing companion for a while now between him and Jack, between their various interactions, fights, and stolen moments. He could no longer feel the cold dripping over his fingers, but Jack seemed to notice, for he reached for Ralph's wrist, tugging until his hand was close to his mouth. Ralph saw and felt the warmth of Jack's tongue as it spread delicately over the ice cream drips, his eyes never moving from Ralph's gaze. Ralph made no move to take his hand back, his skin becoming flushed, and his heart pounding even more fiercely against his chest.

Jack seemed to notice this time and he stepped a tad bit closer, lowering Ralph's hand as he leaned in. Ralph felt Jack's hot breath against his lips right as he seemed to remember where they were, and the strange and heavy feeling between them fractured for a moment.

"Not here. People can see," Ralph hissed, turning his head to avoid the encroaching kiss, just in case Jack decided to attempt to steal one anyway.

Jack chuckled lowly. "Typical," he muttered. "You care too much about what others think."

"And you don't care at all! That's the problem," Ralph shot back, but his voice was still lowered.

"Here, then," Jack responded, abandoning the rest of his ice cream on the railing as he grabbed Ralph's hand and tugged him harshly along the pavement. Ralph decided to abandon the rest of his ice cream as well, the chocolate now melting together with the vanilla on the cobblestone.

Ralph's suspicions were confirmed when Jack pulled him into one of the narrower alleyways between two crumbling buildings that had notices placed for planned renovations. Jack had gently pushed Ralph against one of the brick walls. There was that same hunger present from the night before, haunting the penetrating blue of his eyes, but there was something milder there as well, something that enticed Ralph more than the fire that typically hounded Jack's impulsive exploits.

For the first time, Ralph reached up, his fingers crumpling the front of Jack's shirt as he pulled him in. Ralph's nose slid alongside Jack's as he initiated his first kiss with him. Even though Ralph had started it, Jack immediately took control and deepened it. The contact stoked the warmth in his belly, radiating throughout his entire body. Ralph craved more. He couldn't remember ever quite craving something this intensely, something that an acceptable life couldn't quite offer him, no matter how often he pleased everyone, no matter how well he played by their rules. They couldn't set that cravable fire in him if they harbored none themselves.

A halting moan was trapped in Ralph's throat, his body arching ever so slightly into Jack's, half breaking the kiss as the back of his skull pressed back against the harsh brick. He felt Jack's mouth dragging down to his neck in that moment. It was different from the rough and demanding touch that he'd felt in the past from Jack. None of his teeth; only his lips and tongue, as if he were mapping out his skin for the first time, truly exploring instead of attacking his skin in a moment of pure opportunity and rage. This time, Ralph was the one who felt like clawing at Jack, as if digging, desperately for something that he’d long been looking for.

Rasping breaths, and the occasional sound escaping Ralph's throat seemed to reflect this. Jack's free hand slid down Ralph's body before he started working open the buckle of Ralph's belt. It felt very different from the night before when Jack had attempted this. He did it so casually and almost reverently, that Ralph didn't realize that he was fiddling with his clothes until he felt Jack's fingers plunge beneath the fabric of his trousers and pants in one smooth motion.

This was the first time anyone had ever touched him intimately. Ralph trembled and he felt hot all over, immediately knowing that he wouldn't last long at all like this. Jack's smart remarks and the trademark smirk were absent for once. Ralph could only detect the heaviness in Jack's breathing, and the heat radiating from Jack's cheek as he pressed it against Ralph's, concentrating as his fingers wrapped around Ralph, massaging the skin, his fingers starting to stroke him, freeing him temporarily from his trousers. The outside air was brittle and cold, but Jack's slightly calloused fingers were warm.

Ralph wrapped an arm around Jack, holding him close, his nose sliding from Jack's jaw to his neck as he felt the heat building up tightly inside him. The litany of breathy sounds didn't stop, and he could feel a familiar, hot sensation straining between his legs.

"Jack…" when Ralph spoke, his voice sounded raspy, wanting, and rather foreign.

Jack seemed to renew his efforts, quickening his fingers, making the sensation unbearable. Ralph choked on his sudden orgasm, his fingers clawed and tightened into Jack's back and shoulder as his entire body quivered, the pleasure burning him. He throbbed in Jack's hand and soon felt the wetness sliding against his skin. Jack's fingers slowed, stroking a few more times before he reached in his pocket for a tissue to clean his hand.

Ralph was trembling as the bliss spread more calmly through his body, temporarily drowning out the more horrified and rational part of his mind that was screaming at him, demanding to know why he'd let Jack touch him, why he kissed him, and why he wanted this.

He didn't think that he could properly answer those questions.

Ralph attempted to catch his breath as the want that had overtaken him settled and the rational part of his mind steadily regained control. He could feel the flare of heat in his face as he fixed his trousers and belt, not daring to meet Jack's eyes quite yet.

Jack seemed to be fidgeting slightly as well, toying a bit with the tissue before tossing it to the ground, repeatedly straightening out his shirt and his coat, the first time that Ralph had ever seen him like that.

Ralph finally worked up the courage to look up at Jack, his eyes searching and questioning, but not finding words that seemed appropriate for the moment. After a long moment, Jack finally looked back at him, and Ralph noticed that the odd uncertainty was reflecting back. They had crossed a line, and it felt like neither of them were entirely sure how to proceed after entering forbidden territory.

Ralph released a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he glanced at the alleyway exit into the street, biting at the inside of his cheek and moving the spit around in his mouth for a moment. "I should be getting back."

Something flashed in Jack's blue gaze and he reached out to grab at Ralph's arm. It wasn't harsh, but it was firm. "Will I see you again?"

Ralph's brow furrowed slightly. "We go to the same school, dumbarse. I'm sure you will."

It wasn't exactly the answer Jack seemed to want, because his fingers tightened a little on Ralph's arm. "You kissed me," he whispered, not exactly an accusation, but simply pointing out the obvious. Drawing attention exactly where he wanted it.

Ralph felt his face bath in a sudden heat and he struggled to maintain eye contact. "I _know_ what I did, Jack. You don't need to remind me."

Jack released an exasperated sound, pressing his free arm against the wall next to Ralph's head, drawing in close. "I think you like it. What—is being the golden bloke in everyone's eyes a bit too boring for you? You secretly like breaking the rules, don't you?"

"Don't push me. If you do, you're not going to like what I have to say to you," Ralph warned, an angry edge to his voice.

He pulled his arm from Jack's grasp and shoved him somewhat to force him to take a step back. And Jack did take a step back. Something wild touched Jack's gaze, and he seemed to force something inside himself back. From Ralph's memory, he'd seen that expression before, one that preceded Jack's typical violent explosions. Instead of directing it at Ralph, Jack turned instead to an empty, old bucket with traces of coal, a forceful kick sending it down the abandoned alleyway.

Jack turned his back on Ralph, his fingers knotting in his own red hair for a moment as he kept his gaze on the strip of sea. "You're really fucking aggravating sometimes," he growled quietly.

"Yeah, well get used to it. You never said that you liked me for being some ruddy pushover," Ralph retorted.

Jack actually laughed at that, now pushing his hands into his pockets instead as he glanced at Ralph over his shoulder.

"Nah, you never were. That's what aggravates me and keeps me running after you, you know." There was a hint of a smile there, and Ralph couldn't help the corner of his mouth twitch slightly back, dark amusement swelling in his chest. He pushed himself from the wall, warming his hands in his pockets as well as he approached Jack.

"Shall we get going, then? I really do need to get my stuff."

"Where to?" Jack started leading the way back to where he'd parked his Triumph as Ralph caught up alongside him.

"Sam and Eric's place. You know where that's at?"

"Maybe. We'll figure it out," Jack did give Ralph a bit of a look, disapproval lining his sharp features.

"Oh, don't give me that look, idiot," Ralph huffed, pushing his arm slightly for it.

Once they reached the bike, Jack paused as they were securing their helmets, giving Ralph a long look, his lips pursed slightly. "I'll see you again. Don't avoid me, even when we're at school. I know how you are."

Ralph shifted a look at Jack with that remark, his expression not as harsh as it might've been. "Won't your friends give you a hard time for it? None of them care for me, obviously. I'm sure it would look strange if you were suddenly seen hanging about with me."

"I'm not like you. I don't give a rat's arse what they think of me." Jack straddled his bike as he waited for Ralph to do the same, resuming the same positions as before.

"Not even Roger?" Ralph challenged, wrapping his arms snugly about Jack's chest, just as he felt his muscles stiffen in response to the question. That was answer enough, and Ralph smirked softly against the back of Jack's neck.

Ralph shifted as his chin settled against Jack's shoulder, lips close to his ear as he murmured. "Not so different, then."

Jack only responded by turning on the ignition before pulling onto the street. The passing of the city was soon behind them, the heart-pounding blur of the excitement and dread resounded over their brief time together before the drudgery of school and expectations would begin once more.

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	13. We All Burn

_“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”_

_-Federico García Lorca_

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Ralph arrived back at school with a certain sense of feeling lost. His mind kept replaying the incident in the alleyway with Jack; and he knew very well that he couldn’t rationalize it in a way that would be acceptable by himself and by society. He’d done something wrong, and it was the sort of wrong that he needed to conceal from everyone.

His eyes trailed over his reflection in his room as he readied his school uniform for the day, repeatedly straightening his tie and blazer, as if he couldn’t see past the miniscule mistakes. He hadn’t even touched the mess of his hair as it started to hang close to his eyes.

The first order of the day was to attend the morning sermon where he knew he would see the choristers doing their part as they did every morning. He would sit in the pew and he would watch the sham that made the majority of the choir. Most of them, unbeknownst to false sense of security in Father Whitman or the school staff that surrounded them, would know that most of the choristers had been drunk off their arses just a couple of nights prior, doing a variety of things that would make anyone balk.

But no. The adults simply chose to see what was before them during the morning sermon, a symbol of a good and strong generation that they felt would provide them with a sense of hope for the future after the conclusion of the brutal war that had already shaken the confidence and strength of the world.

Ralph had arrived earlier than most of the other students, and he barely noticed that Sam and Irene had found him, sharing brief nonverbal greetings with him, whether it was through smiles or slight nudges. Ralph could manage a small smile back at the both of them, although his smile faded when he realized that Sam was alone.

He leaned over to whisper in Sam’s ear. “Where’s Eric?”

Sam gave him a grim glance. “He’s… not doing too well. He won’t be coming back to school for a couple days.”

Ralph only replied with a scathingly confused look, and Sam looked like he wanted to say something further, but they were silenced by one of the faculty members shushing them and other children before the sermon began.

Ralph gripped agitatedly at the edge of the seat as he realized that he hadn’t seen Eric since he parted from him abruptly at the party to follow Jack. He never met up with him any time after. Due to neither of them having a clear sense of direction with where Sam and Eric’s house was, Jack had ended up dropping Ralph off at the school and Sam had promised over the phone that he would bring Ralph’s overnight bag back to school with him the next day. Guilt and worry clutched at his heart as he forced his eyes once more to the front of the church.

The choristers started their hymns, a mixture of the higher pitched younger boys with the low tenor of the teenagers. It was flowing and clear, but Ralph could only see the ugliness of their black robes and the grim reminder of how a good number of the older teenagers’ faces were ones that he knew very well.

Ralph’s eyes were immediately drawn to the red-haired chorister with the piercing blue gaze. It didn’t take long until Jack was looking directly back at him, a mixture of the typical cloud of animosity that likely would never fade between them mixed with something softer, similar to how he’d been with him yesterday in the alleyway by the oceanfront. Ralph only felt comfort with the animosity because he knew it well and only felt an ache with the other feeling. And yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away all the same, remembering the heat of his breath against his face, the harsh turn of his lips against his, and the press of his calloused fingers across his skin. His cheeks grew steadily warmer the longer he stared.

Roger, standing two boys away from Jack on the stands, also noticed the odd way that Jack was gazing into the crowd. He slowly followed Jack’s stare until his eyes caught onto the familiar shade of blonde.

Ralph, feeling the second intense gaze, shifted his attention ever so slightly to Jack’s right, locking onto Roger’s dark eyes. The back of his neck prickled, and his fingers tightened even more alongside his knees. When Roger noticed that Ralph had caught him, his regard became even more intense and unwavering.

Something seemed to transpire between them, although Ralph couldn’t name or rationalize it. Whatever it was, it made his stomach drop, like the initial fall of a bike going wildly down a sharp hill.

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Roger had caught Jack after the sermon had ended and the choristers were expected to put away their robes in the back before proceeding with the rest of their morning classes. Instead of calling out to him, he slid close to his side, shutting the wardrobe door with a press of his shoulder, the thud loud enough to snap his attention in place.

He watched as Jack’s icy gaze landed on him, both in alarm and irritation. Roger thought that he caught something else in there as well. Fear, perhaps. Avoidance.

“Shit, Roger,” Jack tensely rummaged for his bookbag after checking that all his books were accounted for. “What is it?”

“Where were you yesterday? What were you doing?” Roger’s voice was flat, emotionless, and calm. Even so, he was prodding and investigating, his eyes watching Jack as closely, as if watching the everyday patterns of a piglet amidst the dripping green.

Jack paused and Roger knew that he saw a flash of what almost appeared to be panic in his usually otherwise impassioned gaze. Roger knew that Jack never could hide his scorching emotions very well, to the point that it was almost exhausting for him to watch. He didn’t know how one person could harbor that much feeling in one body.

“What I do every day isn’t any of your bloody business,” there was a snap in Jack’s tone. Roger was unmoved, quite used to Jack’s sudden moods as they came and went like violent tides that crashed and pulled at everything around it.

“On the contrary, Jack. I’m worried about you,” his voice continued with that calm, emotionless tenor. Roger wasn’t sure if he was really capable of feeling worried, as it never seemed to affect him the same way as it did with others around him, inflicted with a jittering and intense energy, but he could imagine what it might feel like. “As your most trusted ally, I feel that it is my business.”

Jack looked at him in a curious manner, that fire still alight in his gaze, but it was contained enough to show that he was listening. He shouldered his bag, but he didn’t move from his spot as the other choristers moved around them, eventually filtering out of the practice room.

Roger stepped even closer to Jack, a hint of a threat in the motion, but he retained that calm and mild expression as he leaned in. Jack, as stubborn as ever, didn’t move a muscle as he stood his ground.

“I went looking for you that night at the party, Jack,” his voice lowered, quiet and soft.

He saw that peculiar panic again in Jack’s eyes, and Roger felt the hot excitement in his veins, just like when he was cornering a helpless pig, moving in slowly and methodically as the creature squealed, steadily growing more panicked, more frightened over what might come next.

Roger afforded himself a knotty smile over that feeling, because he only ever smiled when he meant it. And he only meant it when he felt that excitement. Jack’s fingers tightened until they turned bone white over the strap of his bag.

“I know where your bedroom is,” Roger continued, his voice like the serene quality of a still and murky pond. “I saw you… passed out on your bed, smelling like alcohol and puke. And I saw him next to your window.”

Jack’s expression tightened and Roger could detect the smallest change in his breathing, deeper, the smallest flare in his nostrils. He was feeling threatened whilst trying hard to hide it, and Roger liked it.

“I stood over him—” Roger’s voice became softer, slightly breathy as he leaned in closer to the point where his chest was almost touching Jack’s. The other chorister still didn’t retreat his tall and typically intimidating form; he probably knew not to. That was why Roger respected him, far over the other boys in their group. And this time, Jack certainly didn’t disappoint.

“—I stood over him. And I wondered how he would manage if I’d pushed him out that window, Jack. Do you think his body would break from the second floor? A neck is delicate. If he was lucky, maybe just an arm or a leg. It wouldn’t have been very satisfying, I suppose. You know how much I prefer to touch them… I like the wetness and the smell and the feel…”

As he continued speaking, the pallor of Jack’s face continued to lose its color and the Adam’s apple at his neck trembled as he swallowed thickly.

“He’s… off limits to you,” Jack finally managed some words, and they didn’t sound nearly as strong or as confident as the first time that he had declared them weeks ago.

“I know,” Roger continued without missing a beat, his visage just as serene as before. “These are simply my thoughts. As you know, I left him sleeping there… and there was no mess to clean in the garden below. I do want to know your thoughts, Jack… Were you with him yesterday?”

There was only a deafening silence that followed, and for the first time, Jack lowered his eyes from Roger, hiding whatever emotion was in them. A wide smile fractured Roger’s face, a broken and ice-laden feature.

“Do you know what happens to a man when he starts sleeping with the pigs, Jack?” Though his voice was gentle and low, it was driven with subtle purpose. “He starts smelling like them… he starts acting like them… and it soon becomes difficult to distinguish him from the animals. It’s a dangerous thing.”

This time, Jack’s sharp gaze lifted and glared directly at Roger. “Are you threatening me?” His heated voice was brittle.

“Like I said, Jack—” Roger responded mildly once more. “I’m your closest ally. I understand you the most, and unlike anyone here—I accept you exactly for who you are. Furthermore, I think that who you are is perfect and shouldn’t be changed. How many people can you count on for that?”

Again, that heavy conflict appeared over Jack’s features. It was something that Roger pulled the strings at reliably. He knew that Jack wasn’t accepted among most others, and he knew that he would be even less accepted, completely rejected even, if everyone knew everything about him. Roger was well-aware of Jack’s loneliness and resentment in his broken family, and even more about how vengeful and beautifully violent that lack of acceptance and admiration made him. When Jack was fragmented, he reflected that excitement that Roger could only feel when he caused someone pain. And he wanted Jack to remain that beautiful embodiment of liberation from those troublesome societal constraints.

“And as your ally and friend, Jack—” Roger paused, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “I don’t want someone like him hurting you. Affecting you. Just like he did before.” Of course, he was more wary over Ralph’s potential for tainting Jack, influencing and leading him in a way that would’ve been relatively easy with the way that Jack seemed so intensely fixated on him.

“Who should you trust more? Someone who stood by you through both the nasty and the good moments, who never shied away from your exploits and preferences? Or someone who never accepted you from the start, only ever challenging you?”

Roger didn’t expect a response as he finally took a step back from Jack, noting that Jack’s expression flittered between the tense thoughtfulness and suspicion. He simply grabbed at his own bag, giving Jack one final and satisfied glance before soundlessly making his way out of the practice room.

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The common area where food was served was warm and crowded after the brief break, the lights reflecting warmly against the aged wood paneling of the walls, the great windows revealing how the light was shying away more quickly as winter was steadily approaching, and the students were all layering on their clothing emblazoned with the school’s emblem. The area was alive with conversation, most of it excited and recounting as the students would be going on holiday again soon enough.

Ralph found Sam and Irene rather quickly right when dinner started being served after the last class had finished. He’d attempted to seek out Sam sooner to ask for further details about his brother, but the twin had been scarce and difficult to track after morning classes, which only further incited his curiosity.

As he sat at their usual table, Irene gave him a smile, which Ralph returned, feeling immediately comfortable in her familiar presence.

“Sam,” Ralph muttered, getting his attention. Sam barely touched his food and there were bags under his eyes, staring forward and seemingly rather unaware of his surroundings. He glanced up at Ralph, slight shadows growing heavy under his eyes.

“Tell me what happened with Eric,” Ralph insisted, keeping his voice low.

“Where were you, Ralph? He was by himself at the party,” Sam murmured, not entirely accusing as he stared back at the table as if it would somehow give him the strength to say what he wanted to say. The closer that Ralph looked at Sam, the more he noticed the deep wrinkles in his shirt, the sickly pallor over his face, and the haunted look in his gaze.

“Where were you, Sam? You left us both,” Ralph countered without much conviction, because Sam’s question had stung. But he also needed to evade responding to it; no one could know what he was truly doing that evening.

Sam was silent at that and decided to pick at his food once more, failing to say anything else. Ralph felt only the burn of frustration at the back of his throat, as he still had little idea as to what happened with Eric and he had a feeling that Sam was disinclined to tell him anything further.

Ralph caught Irene at the corner of his eyes staring rather intently back at him. “What happened at Merridew’s party?” Her voice was low and soft, curious without being too intrusive.

The blonde glanced up at Irene from his unappetizing tray of soggy eggs and burnt bacon. He could feel his own cheeks burn with a particular shame when the memory of Jack’s mouth against his, against his neck, and how the weight of his body against his on the rooftop soon after Ralph had left Eric assaulted his mind. He couldn’t quiet meet Irene’s gaze, but he couldn’t very well ignore her either.

“It was… a crazy party. It was difficult to keep track of everyone with half the school being there,” even though it was in response to Irene’s question, Ralph’s eyes trailed over to Sam across the table, giving him some semblance of an explanation. Sam finally met his eyes, a mixture of a certain hardness and guilt. His lips remained firmly pressed together.

The rest of the meal continued in relative silence and Irene was kind enough to avoid asking about the party again.

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It wasn’t until evening when Ralph decided to venture outside, an attempt to avoid another awkward meal with the silent Sam and the curious Irene. He felt a bit upset with the world, for those who always seemed to be endlessly asking him questions that he didn’t have the answers to. A part of him wished that he could remain on the outside of their idyllic routine and desire to have a proper response for how exactly the chaotic and unknowable world worked. Perhaps people were simply fooling themselves into thinking that they could possibly know everything, have an answer for everything, and be able to understand everything in a world would always be unknowable.

He made his way along the back of one of the buildings that wasn’t quite as well-lit as the other back alleyways of the campus, feeling the need to escape and be in a place where he could actually hear the turbulent mess of his thoughts.

Once he turned the corner, his eyes caught on a small, orange glow, the distinctive pungency of cigarette smoke reaching his nose. An apologetic excuse for intruding was about to tumble from his lips before he recognized the slender, tall boy leaning against the back of the building, his head inclined toward the darkening sky as he blew out warm smoke. The same blue eyes that were typically electric with desire and strong-armed impulse was somewhat subdued, as if in his own world of thought, far more than Ralph ever remembered seeing. It was a bit unsettling. Instead of immediately leaving to give him his privacy, he drew closer, leaning his shoulder against the wall as he faced Jack.

Jack seemed to take notice of his presence right away with the way his shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look at him for another drawn-out moment, pulling in another slow drag before lowering his gaze to Ralph.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Ralph muttered in a way that revealed he didn’t care if Jack did or didn’t; it was simply an observation.

Jack lifted his shoulders slightly, pulling the half-burned cigarette from his lips. “I don’t usually. Just when I want to think. And only when I manage to find some stashed away in my father’s study.”

Ralph remembered seeing Jack at his father’s work desk during the party, and he wondered if that was when he’d pilfered the likely expensive brand of cigarettes. He couldn’t imagine Mr. Merridew ever deigning to put anything in his body that didn’t meet his lofty standards. At least it wasn’t just Jack that was likely feeling inadequate in his presence.

A spark of interest touched Jack’s dulled gaze as he turned to face Ralph, a wicked turn at the corner of his lips. “Here, give it a try,” he suggested with hardly any room for debate. He held the cigarette out to Ralph, being careful where he placed his fingers. Ralph noticed the dry, roughness of Jack’s fingertips against the filter paper, bringing back the memory of his touch once more. He shivered.

“I’ve never—” He started to protest regardless and didn’t move to take it.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And how would you know?” An incredulous tone.

“Seriously?” Jack gave off a brief and harsh laugh. “Because you’re you. You never do anything that would give others leave to be disappointed. I’m sure everyone in your life is extraordinarily proud of everything you are and everything you stand for.”

Ralph gave Jack an annoyed look before he reached over to take the cigarette from him, perching it at his lips before inhaling, the steady burn of the paper trailing closer. He made the mistake of taking in too much and he immediately pulled it out, coughing harshly. Jack only responded with a thin smile, waiting patiently until Ralph seemed stable in his breathing again.

The blonde could feel the immense scratchiness at the back of his throat, and he swallowed thickly to try and ease the irritation.

“Try again,” Jack insisted. “This time only take in a little. Taste it. Hold it for second, and slowly breath it in.”

As odd as this was, and with this being the furthest thing from what Ralph had planned on doing with his evening, he followed Jack’s instruction, this time being gentler and slower with the inhalation. Breathing in softly, allowing it in his lungs, and feeling only some of the burn at the back of his throat before blowing out the smoke. He still coughed a bit, but not nearly as much as he did the first time. Ralph handed it back to Jack, who in turn, took another slow drag.

“You gave me one of your firsts, Medevane. I’m honored,” Jack muttered, his voice as dry as the filter paper touching his lips.

“It’s not the only first—” Ralph barely stopped before he thought about what he was admitting to.

Jack’s eyes drew back to Ralph after he took his last drag, snubbing it against the wall before dropping the end to the ground. He smirked as his fingers reached over to trail along the inside of Ralphs winkled school blazer, delving into the warmth trapped there against his chest.

Ralph watched him, this time not moving one bit as Jack drew close, the scent of his recently smoked cigarette intensifying as his nose slid softly against his, his mouth temptingly close. A shiver raised Ralph’s skin as he felt the dry, chapped, and very warm lips drag across his. His lips instinctively parted as Jack initiated a proper kiss. A crawling and intense heat trickled through his body. He felt Jack’s tapered fingers press against his side, still beneath his blazer before he slid further around until he reached his back, smoothing lower until he touched Ralph’s tailbone right above the top of his trousers.

The kiss broke when Ralph immediately detected the bitter taste of the smoke when Jack attempted to delve his tongue against his. Ralph grunted and his nose winkled slightly. “God, that tastes awful. You’re not allowed to do that again after you’ve just smoked.”

Jack only chuckled as his lips instead dragged to other areas, sliding along Ralph’s jawline before he lowered down to the hollow of his neck, sucking softly at his Adam’s apple. The hot feeling was working its way down Ralph’s body, and he relaxed with his back to the wall. A question was burning in the back of his mind, even with elevated angle of his jaw so that Jack could continue what he was doing, his own eyelids starting to feel heavy.

“What happened to Eric?”

“Why are you going on about him?” Jack sounded irritated, hot breath against Ralph’s neck as he paused long enough to respond. The drag and press of his lips against his skin continued after a moment of silence, renewing the distracting heat that served to jumble Ralph’s thoughts.

Ralph wet his papery lips, forcing his mind back on what Sam had alluded to and with that odd way that Roger was staring at him in the chapel this morning. “I think Roger did something to him.”

This time, Jack froze.

Although Ralph couldn’t feel his lips on him, he could feel the ragged exhale of his breath as he remained where he was. It was a moment longer until Jack looked up at Ralph, an icy, harsh quality to his eyes, that intensity rekindled once more, but lined with alarm and peeved curiosity. His fingers moved from the previous, almost seductive place against Ralph’s back and dug firmly into his arm instead.

“What?” was Jack’s punitive whisper.

“Eric’s not at school. Something happened to him at your party, and I think Roger had something to do with it,” Ralph continued undaunted, stubbornness touching his voice.

Jack made an annoyed sound. “I honestly don’t give a fuck about Eric. And I haven’t a bloody clue as to what happened to him if that’s what you’re so concerned about. I just want you to stay away from Roger.”

“No, I’m going to confront the bastard if he did something to him!”

Jack gripped harshly at Ralph’s shoulders, a very quick movement that he barely perceived, pushing him agitatedly against the wall. Ralph’s shoulder-blades dug painfully into the mortar. “You’re not going anywhere near him,” he hissed.

A white-hot anger shot through Ralph as he gripped at Jack’s arms keeping him pinned, trying to shove him back and only half succeeding with Jack’s grip loosening. “You don’t get to order me about! And what—are you just protecting your stupid choir friends from ever facing any consequences for all the fucked-up things they do?”

Jack made an exasperated sound, moving his hands away entirely from Ralph. “No, that’s not it at all! You’re just being stupid. You don’t go prodding at someone like that and not expect to burned for it.”

“I would know all about that, wouldn’t I? I nearly _was_ burned for it!”

There was silence. Jack’s passion fizzled out he stared back at Ralph, the blonde’s gaze brimming with a harsh energy, the prick of wetness at his eyes only intensified the luster, and Jack felt like his stomach was filling with lead. Ralph’s fists clenched hard enough to feel the prick of his fingernails into his palms.

Jack’s throat was locked, unbelievably tight, his gaze trapped by Ralph’s impassioned, damaged visage. Ralph wavered for a brief moment, the wetness trailing down his face, which only served to make him angrier. He turned to leave, nearly running to put this behind.

Jack only moved from the heavy paralysis when the next thing he saw was Ralph’s back. “Wait, Ralph,” he called after him, the sting of that confusing desperation and desire for something that he couldn’t name once more igniting his veins.

“Don’t!” Ralph snapped, not turning to face him as he continued with his hasty retreat.

Jack couldn’t find it in himself to revert to being brash and violent with immediately going after the blonde and stopping him, forcing him to listen. He simply remained rooted to the ground, perplexing emotions and an uneasy twist in his stomach riddling at his composure.

He ended up kicking a little at the dirt as he shoved his hands in his pockets, slowly making his way out from the back of the building and finding his way back into the dormitories. The first snowfall of the season started filtering down, some of it settling on the end of his freckled nose before he plunged into the bright lights of civility once more.

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Roger was sitting on the washroom counterspace next to the sink late into the night. Bill and Maurice were stationed at various parts of the communal toilet where they would snatch some hapless boy that would come in half asleep to take a piss, only to be snatched by Bill and Maurice prepping for torment within one of the enclosed stalls. The boy would either start whimpering or sobbing not long after, plagued by Bill and Maurice’s snickers and leering voices. Roger wasn’t participating, but he was watching, only half paying attention as his thoughts were consumed elsewhere.

By the time Bill had released the last young boy once he was in a wash of tears, the two choristers looked to Roger with a mixture of frustration and inquisitiveness. “Oi, why aren’t you helping?” Bill piped up first. “And where’s Jack? He’s never around anymore.”

Roger simply looked at Bill in a harsh kind of way. It was true; Jack used to go on these juvenile exploits with them to torment all the younger boys in the school. And now he barely even spoke to them, more off to himself or would seemingly avoid them entirely for days at a time. Roger thought of the blonde sleeping at Jack’s window seat and his gut burned with a nasty feeling.

“He’s occupying himself with Ralph,” Roger decided to see the others’ reactions. He didn’t feel that it was his duty to safeguard the truth for Jack, not when the feeling of betrayal continued to sink further with every day that he was absent.

Bill and Maurice looked at Roger as if he’d just admitted that Jack was in the process of growing a third arm from his head. Maurice was the first to speak. “How? Like… he’s bothering him?” It was perhaps the only thing that made any semblance of sense to the choristers who were used to following him like a mass of mindless sheep.

Roger scoffed. “Not exactly.”

“What—you’re saying they’re actually friendly?” Bill asked the next question, the thin, tall brunette leaning against one of the stalls with his arms folded.

“Something like that,” Roger stared keenly at the others. He knew that he didn’t have the natural gift of inspiration and leadership that Jack did, nor did he have any interest in harboring that, but he could manipulate their blind loyalty toward Jack for his own use.

“Ralph’s influencing him, bending him exactly how he’d like him to bend. I’d wager that he’s doing it to hurt him, to tear him apart soon enough,” Roger’s voice was quiet and rather dull, but straightforward.

“Jack wouldn’t allow that,” Maurice’s voice rose up in defense of their leader, but Roger could see the flush of color in his face all the same, indignant with the possibility. He was considering it despite the loud protest.

Roger gave them both a fracture of a bitter smile. “You’ve seen how Ralph is. You’ve witnessed how convincing he can be, how much he makes you want to belong. He’s doing that to Jack all over again. It’s probably his own twisted form of payback for what we did.”

Bill and Maurice exchanged uncomfortable looks and there was a long silence that stretched between them. Roger was contrarily comfortable in their discomfort and he waited with a certain measure of satisfaction, watching the tension grow as their thoughts likely became more fantastical in the possibilities matched with Jack’s frequent and unpredictable absences.

Bill adopted a grim expression as he nodded ever so slightly in Roger’s direction. “What should we do?” His voice was hushed, even though they were alone, a forbidden kind of planning for something that they once all felt the need to do many years ago on the island. Roger immediately sensed that black festering in their hearts likely never faded, simply ignored over time.

“We need to remove Ralph, erase him from Jack’s mind,” Roger murmured calmly, leaning back against the mirror. “Jack won’t like it, but we’re doing it for his own good.”

Maurice’s features tightened at the thought of doing something against Jack’s wishes. It seemed to go against their programming, Roger thought with a hint of disgust. He shifted to jump down from the counter, pressing his hands into his trouser pockets, hair hanging low over his eyes.

“Can’t we at least talk to Jack about this first?” Maurice tried again.

“And risk him getting defensive, not seeing what we’re seeing, and never coming back to our group ever again?” Roger countered.

Maurice seemed to quiet at that, with the idea that they very well wouldn’t see Jack again if he was only solidified in allowing Ralph to have that kind of influence over him. That idea seemed to sit with him worse than the former. “Fine.”

Bill nodded as well, agreeing with the rest of the group like Roger expected him to.

“What’s the plan, then?”

Roger held their gazes for a moment longer, relishing briefly in having control, even if it was only temporary until they pulled Jack back into their grasp. “You two won’t do anything yet. I’m going to find out exactly what’s going on first before we try anything. Having more information will give us more power, more leverage.”

The two other choristers shifted their weight, that look of discomfort returning, but they weren’t protesting this time.

“We’ll have Jack back to his usual self soon enough,” Roger murmured, leaving them both with one last lingering glance before he turned to make his way out into the darkened corridor.

“Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” It was a threat that even the choristers knew not to challenge.

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	14. Mine, Mine, Mine

_“Every move you make, and every vow you break. Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you.”_

-_The Police (Every Move You Make)_

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The days steadily passed, growing colder, with the white of the drifting snow making the bare branches look like icy fingers clawing from the surface of a powdery, frozen lake. The harshness was only lessened by the warmth of the school, the heat of fireplaces matched with the yellow glow of lights throughout. Most students sequestered indoors to continue studying for upcoming exams, many others were essentially living in the library. Most were finishing hand-written reports or otherwise reading the same long and dreary text that they were expected to memorize.

Likewise, Jack was stuck in the library with a stack of reports that he needed to finish. Even so, he was endlessly and frustratingly distracted by a familiar shade of gold not too far away.

Jack could only watch from afar as Ralph continued with his monotonous schedule, being dutiful in classes and achieving high marks as he continued to keep close company with Irene. It was only now that Jack noticed that Sam was the only twin that was also present, and he remembered Ralph’s voiced concern over Eric, the worry that had preceded their argument.

Eric still hadn’t returned to school.

Roger was also starting to act a bit strange, hanging closer than usual. He seemed to be within Jack’s shadow whenever he took to wandering various places of the school when they weren’t otherwise being dictated by their class schedule and choir practice.

Jack knew that Roger could very well hide himself if he wanted to effectively stalk him without notice. Jack knew Roger’s patterns, the way he hunted, the way he looked at him, and the way he trailed his footfalls. It held an uncomfortable similarity to the way Roger followed swine on the island. Not that Jack would ever allow him to see that it bothered him. Jack knew Roger wanted to be seen.

Presently, Jack’s fuse was shorter than usual as he remained sitting in the back of the extensive, old library that was part of the main structure of the school. It was naturally rather somber with the stained-glass windows that reflected the same antiqued style of the chapel, another original part of the school grounds.

In Jack’s dark corner, most of the light came from lanterns, and recently updated small light fixtures along the wall. Even so, Jack had little trouble seeing the blonde several tables along the other side of the large main area.

Heavy books and papers were strewn about the table Ralph was sitting at, accompanied closely by Irene. He would flip through the books on occasion before leaning over to drop words into Irene’s ear and she would respond to him in kind. They were very close with their chairs. Close enough that Ralph could tease her with the occasional press of his lips to her cheek or to the side of her nose. Discreet enough, that it went unnoticed by most. But Jack saw every touch. He saw the affection behind Ralph’s fingers and the way that he looked at her.

It made his stomach burn and ache in the worst way possible. The burn spread through his blood and he gripped everything tighter than he needed to, snapping the books shut, pushing back at his own chair, thumping against the wood of the table with his pencil, and shoving away whichever stacks of paper he didn’t need.

As he continued with his schoolwork, cold blue eyes frequently shot back to the blonde. He felt the want and the resentment so tangibly, taut and brittle, as if it couldn’t be contained in his own skin.

When Jack spotted the now familiar dark figure from the corner of his gaze, barely behind the bookshelf nearest to his own desk, he turned to glare at him instead.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jack snapped in a harsh whisper, not wanting to have to deal with an angry librarian, which would only serve to draw more attention to himself.

Roger came from behind the bookshelf with a thin smile, the sort that looked practiced and forced. He was holding a book and dropped it onto Jack’s pile as he approached his table. “You’ve been very distracted,” he murmured in a soft tone that felt as empty as his expression.

“Why are you following me?” Jack growled, staging it as an accusation rather than a legitimate question.

Roger shrugged as he leaned his hips back against Jack’s desk, his eyes only briefly trailing from Jack to the table that Ralph was sitting at, his back to them from across the large room. “Like I said before, Jack—I’m worried.”

Jack didn’t look at him again, purposefully avoiding looking at the blonde now, seemingly immersed in his studies, one of his hands tangled in the mess of his red hair, elbow against the table as he pointedly avoided Roger and his insinuations.

“Want to do something about Medevane? It’ll make you feel better.” Hearing Roger immediately make the connection, Jack flinched, his pulse loud in his ears as his ice-laden gaze landed on Roger.

“Leave him alone,” Jack spoke in a clipped tone.

The corner of Roger’s lip twitched, but the rest of him remained still. “I won’t touch him. I can’t promise the same for the others. You haven’t been around lately. They’re mindless. Don’t know what to do with themselves. It’s pathetic.”

Before Jack could even formulate a response to that, Roger had left, his form fading into the shadows behind a mass of bookshelves. Jack glanced about, but he could no longer catch the slightest glimpse of his increasingly familiar second shadow.

Just as well.

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The monotonous corridors stretched endlessly from the lens of Ralph’s exhausted gaze, having been browsing various books and reviewing his work for days on end now. He carried his book-laden bag with him, his shoulder aching from the constant weight matched with how the fatigue was already leaking into his muscles. Everyone else around him seemed to move in a similar way; however, so he knew that he wasn’t alone.

Unfortunately, for him, he was also garnering more attention than he hoped to receive as he turned the corner, slow to realize that some of these faces were familiar. Something that became startlingly clear when he felt a harsh shove against his shoulder, hard enough that he hit the wall he was walking alongside, his bag falling from his shoulder and his books scattering on the floor. Adrenaline spiked through his blood and he glared straight into the brightly amused gaze of Maurice. Bill was nearby, as were a couple of other choir boys whose names escaped him.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Ralph shouted, a flush of anger heating his face, but his heart lurched upon realizing that it was him against four of them.

“That’s exactly what I was going to ask you,” Maurice taunted, a rather wicked looking grin plastered over his expression right as Bill took the opportunity to swing.

Ralph didn’t turn away quick enough before he felt Bill’s knuckles make sharp contact with the side of his face, knocking him down. He tasted iron and his mouth seemed to flood with warmth, his head ringing.

There was wild laughter in the corridor, and he heard a smattering of movement as a crowd gathered around them, most of them either laughing, shouting, or gasping with the sudden show of violence. Ralph wasn’t one to take things like this lying down, but he could barely gather his senses to pick himself up, trying and nearly having his face meet with the floor with how dazed he was. He noticed Maurice kick at his pile of fallen books, scattering them across the floor.

Bill reached down and gathered the front of Ralph’s shirt in a tight fist, forcing him to his feet before slamming his back against the wall.

“What’re you doing to Jack, you little fuck?” he spoke through nearly clenched teeth.

Ralph glared at him, fighting past the vertigo. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve barely talked to him for weeks now!”

“Liar,” Bill raised his fist again and Ralph flinched back as far as he could, his sweater vest straining from the other boy’s hold. Before the second punch could land, he heard a familiar voice piercing and commanding, running toward them from down the corridor.

“_Bill!_ Let him go, you stupid bastard!” Jack seethed, dropping his own bag as his fingers curled harshly into his palms. His eyes were sharp and prickling.

Bill immediately dropped him, backing up with his hands up, submission painting his features. The other choristers seemed similarly chastised and retreated to the other side of the corridor. The effect was almost comical to Ralph if his mouth weren’t currently throbbing. He slumped against the wall, still trying to collect himself as he took in this strange situation.

“J-Jack?” Bill found his voice after a moment of attempting and failing. “We were just having f-fun, that’s all…”

That seemed to be the wrong answer with Jack, as he moved quickly forward to shove Bill against the opposite wall, brittle fury in the white of his knuckles as he fisted Bill’s shirt.

“Not. With. Him,” Jack punctuated each word with another sharp shove against the wall. The other choristers were very quickly abandoning Bill, escaping the scene of the proverbial crime while the redhead’s attention wasn’t on them, leaving only the one tall boy receiving the brunt of Jack’s rage.

“Please, Jack. I won’t do it again…” Bill whimpered, looking nearly like he was close to tears. Ralph wondered what Jack must’ve done to Bill in the past to reduce the previously intimidating bully to this blubbering, pathetic mess.

Jack only seemed to pull back from his typical storm of emotion when Ralph started to pick up his scattered books, giving the blonde a sidelong glance.

“Get out of here before I decide to hurt you,” Jack growled, pushing him away this time. Bill hardly needed convincing as he shot down the opposite corridor as soon as he was released, his shoe skidding on the floor as he nearly toppled over. The small crowd around them seemed to start to thin as well, not wanting to connect with Jack’s glare as he walked around to Ralph’s side, crouching to start picking up some of the scattered books as well.

“You don’t need to do that,” Ralph grumbled, rubbing away at a spot of blood that dropped from his damaged lip over one of his books.

“Do what? Order some stupid pillock about?” the corner of Jack’s mouth curved somewhat.

“You know what,” Ralph finally lifted his eyes to find Jack’s.

Pale eyes didn’t stray when he connected with Ralph’s gaze, his heart quickening, at heavy heat enveloping his freckled face. Clearing his throat, he handed the gathered books back over to Ralph, which he promptly accepted.

“I…” Jack started, his voice softening significantly from the harsh and ugly quality from moments ago when he was ready to beat Bill. He took another quick breath, eyes darting, grasping and losing the confidence to share whatever thought was on his mind.

Ralph swallowed a bit, cringing at the overwhelming taste of his own blood. “It’s okay. Let’s go. I hate being a spectacle.”

Jack seemed to brighten with the almost unintentional invitation in Ralph’s words and he picked up his own bag before walking with him, knowing the way that Ralph was going, having followed his schedule close enough in the past agonizingly empty weeks that lacked any sort of interaction between them.

“Yeah… let’s get you cleaned up,” Jack replied, walking closely, but careful not to touch the other boy. This was the closest he’d been to Ralph since the last time they spoke, and he didn’t want to unintentionally start another fight with him.

“My room, then? I have some bandages… I refuse to go to the sodding nurse’s office again,” Ralph suggested, a hint of a scowl with the thought of showing up bloodied at the nurse’s a second time within the past few months, nursing an even more bruised ego.

Jack snorted.

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Roger’s eyes scoured over the neat, business-like handwriting of Ralph’s father, a commander of the British Royal Navy, he discovered, before carefully folding up the private birthday letter that Ralph had received weeks ago and setting it exactly where he found it within the drawer of his bedside table. Nothing else piqued his interest in there, so he moved across the room to glance over his wardrobe once more. Although he had long known where Ralph slept, he never before ventured into his room, not having any interest nor reason to do so previously.

Now, he was searching for clues. Although he knew that Jack and Ralph had been spending an odd measure of time together lately, he wasn’t sure of the nature of their relationship and he was determined to discover just that.

Roger’s fingers curled around a letter opener on Ralph’s desk, inspecting the sharpness with intense interest before his ears caught onto a pair of footfalls right outside the door.

He gave a displeased grunt with being interrupted, although he wasn’t all that worried about getting caught. The idea of unnerving Ralph over the fact that Roger could easily get into his room without his knowledge held some level of amusement for him. But he was here to gather information. Not to intimidate.

Resigned, he moved to place himself in the empty space of the wardrobe before shutting himself in. The school wardrobes provided in all the dormitories themselves weren’t exactly of high quality, so there was a good enough gap between the doors for Roger to have some sight into the room, but it was dark enough for him to remain unseen, particularly between the gathers of various coats and blazers.

He waited, still as death, as the door opened soon after and Ralph emerged with a severely bloodied mouth, followed shortly by Jack.

Roger grew rigid at the sight of Jack, not at all expecting to see him with the blonde in his bedroom. He’d taken notice that the two of them had been oddly apart for the past couple of weeks, confirmed by his own vigilant surveillance over Jack’s activities and his usual haunts within the dark corners of the school.

His fingers continued to slide softly along the sharp letter opener as he waited in the wardrobe, his thoughts freely wandering down dark paths, his eyes focused with intensity on Ralph as a bitter taste filled his mouth. The sight of red over his pale skin and the faint scent of blood as he passed the wardrobe made his own heart race, toes curling slightly within his shoes.

Ralph, unbeknownst, was currently nearest to the two who held some form of desire for something distasteful from him. Each desire wildly different from the other, but also strikingly similar.

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Ralph shrugged free of his book bag, allowing it to drop to the floor with a loud thud against the side of the wardrobe, uncaring that the books fell over in an inelegant mess. His motions gave away his exhaustion and pain. Jack’s gaze followed him intently as he set his own bag on the floor as well, with a stronger and steadier arm.

“Here… I’ll get the bandages,” Ralph grumbled, searching through one of his chest drawers before he pulled out some meager supplies, enough for small scrapes and cuts. “Have you assisted with caring for wounds before or are you only capable of creating them?”

Jack scoffed at Ralph’s gently mocking tone and he snatched some of the bandages from Ralph’s grasp. “Sit,” he ordered as he pulled up a couple of chairs from Ralph’s desk.

Surprisingly, Ralph did as he was told without complaint or a sarcastic remark, facing Jack with a look of curious expectance. Jack pulled up the second chair as he sat closely to him, their knees touching as he leaned forward to gingerly dab at the mess of quickly drying blood.

Ralph’s cheeks reddened with the proximity, feeling the soft brush of Jack’s fingertips against his face, and the intense focus of his blue eyes. He imagined for a moment if Jack’s touch were as unusually intimate and warm as his eyes were on him in that moment. A shiver tickled up is spine. Ralph drew a little closer.

“I can’t believe I let that bugger go,” Jack muttered, still fuming as he gently cleaned at Ralph’s bloodied lip. “For damaging one of my favorite parts of you,” he teased with a mock-malicious grin. He reached for the antibacterial ointment once he’d cleaned away the blood and it seemed to be clotting appropriately by this point.

Ralph scoffed slightly at that, but the amusement reflected in his eyes. “That’s a pity for you,” he murmured. “I’m afraid you’re banned from abusing my mouth until it’s properly healed.”

Jack chuckled as he spread some of the ointment from his fingers before gingerly applying some to Ralph’s lower lip, over where the skin had broken. His thumb trailed lightly over the center of the undamaged part of Ralph’s lip, a slow path as the flush deepened over Ralph’s face, spreading to the tops of his ears.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Jack was surprised to hear his most burning question slip past his defenses with hardly any resistance. Ralph’s eyes focused back on him, but he remained where he was, accepting the touch.

“I was angry with you. Obviously.”

“You’re always angry with me,” Jack countered with a frown. “Do you forgive me, then? For last time?”

“No… I don’t,” Ralph sounded definitive despite his softer tone. “But I’d like you to stay all the same.”

“You never want me to stay,” Jack gave him an intensely skeptical look as he removed his finger, wiping it clean with a tissue.

“Jack…”

It was a rarity to hear Ralph say his name, even more so in a tone that wasn’t angry, accusing, distrustful, or frightened. He’d daresay, it was… inviting. Warm and low in a way that commanded Jack’s attention entirely on him.

Jack reached over to caress at Ralph’s undamaged cheek, noticing that the other was starting to sport the beginnings of a bruise from his cheek bone down to his lip. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose barely grazing against Ralph’s. They shared a small, somewhat nervous breath.

“Jack…” Ralph warned him, turning his face slightly to take away the temptation of Jack kissing him, not wanting to start the bleeding all over again.

“I don’t have to kiss your mouth,” Jack smirked, lowering himself to Ralph’s neck instead, his lips grazing over his skin before he started to suck at the area below Ralph’s ear. His lips drifted lower, steadily along his neck.

Ralph lifted his head slightly and his fingers dug into Jack’s hair, holding him close as his heart raced excitedly, perhaps the closest he’d ever come to embracing him. Jack similarly could feel the excitement after weeks of being apart, a slow warmth starting to pool between his legs, his heart racing wildly with the quiet sound that escaped from Ralph’s damaged mouth.

He wondered if Irene had ever pulled those sorts of sounds from Ralph; the thought only making him more determined to draw them out for as long as possible.

Jack’s mouth started to smooth around to the front of Ralph’s throat, tracing his Adam’s apple with his tongue as his fingers trailed down Ralph’s chest, noticing that the blonde’s legs were widening, his skin growing warm and inviting. He loved the way that Ralph’s body started to welcome him, opening to him like a flower teasing the nearest insect to drink its fill. Jack’s heart was pounding hard against his chest with the thought of an invitation.

His fingers slid down from Ralph’s chest to cup him between his legs, fondling at his half-hardened cock through his trousers. Luckily for him, he’d already passed this boundary with Ralph, so he knew that it would be easier to cross a second time.

Ralph’s voice caught in his throat when he felt Jack’s hand between his legs and he pushed his hips forward, almost grinding against his hand, sliding his body into an awkward seating position in his chair, with his arse nearly at the edge of his seat and the back of his neck and shoulders pressing against the top of the chair.

Jack took in a shaking breath against Ralph’s throat as his fingers started to blindly fiddle with and undo Ralph’s belt. Once the leather straps were hanging loosely, he quickly started undoing Ralph’s trousers as well, sliding them down his hips.

Jack’s lips left Ralph’s neck as he slid down, his knees pressing against the floor, kneeling between Ralph’s open legs. His free fingers pushed up against the bottom of Ralph’s shirt and sweater vest, exposing his navel and hips. Ralph felt Jack’s lips pressing against his hip and his own pulse was heavily in his ears, drowning out all rational thought. Everything else seemed irrelevant outside of the two of them.

Jack’s lips trailed down Ralph’s navel, his nose tickling along the sparse trail of blonde hair that continued down into Ralph’s groin. Jack’s fingers curled along the edge of Ralph’s underwear, encouraging it lower.

“How… How many blokes, Jack?” Ralph grasped at that single question out of all the other jumbled thoughts, questions, and clear arousal wrecking his mind.

“…How many?” Jack questioned, glancing up at Ralph, confusion pinching slightly at his face. Understanding dawned on him seconds later; however, and his fingers squeezed and fondled at Ralph’s hardened bulge through the fabric.

“None… you’re the first I’ve done this with. Just girls before…” Jack reddened a bit with that exposé, not quite expecting Ralph to ask him something like that, but he supposed that spoke clearly to how unique and intense this was for him as well, even if he was technically more experienced.

“As a bloke, myself… I think I know how to please one,” Jack felt the subtle tremble in Ralph’s body with his response and he couldn’t help the amusement bubbling over into his expression. His fingers curled around the fabric of his underwear once more before pulling them down, freeing his swollen cock, and allowing it to join Ralph’s discarded trousers on the floor.

His fingers wrapped around Ralph, squeezing and stroking lightly up until he reached his scrotum. His other thumb circled along his head before he passed his tongue over him in a similar motion. A brief moment passed, gathering the briny taste and scent, Jack wrapped his lips around him, slowly allowing Ralph to sink deeper into his mouth.

Ralph, completely new to all these sensations, trembled with the calloused brush of Jack’s fingers, soon replaced by the soft heat and pressure of his mouth. His voice caught in a harsh intake of breath as his muscles grew rigid, a rush of heat blooming in his body.

“Jack…” Ralph groaned, barely comprehensible, his voice thick and low with arousal.

Jack could feel his own cock harden with the sound of Ralph’s voice along with the unique taste and feel of having his cock in his mouth. While he wasn’t entirely sure what he expected it to feel like, it did feel very much alive and hot against his tongue. He could feel every pulse, every movement as Ralph shifted in the slightest. It was an oddly powerful feeling, and Jack relished it.

Jack adjusted to having Ralph comfortably inside before he started experimenting, massaging at the skin of Ralph’s scrotum and rocking his mouth forward over him. Ralph’s fingers found themselves tangled in Jack’s hair as his voice loosened, husky and soft with quickly mounting pleasure. All of this was new and exciting; every movement of Jack’s mouth stoked a fire inside Ralph that he wasn’t aware had even existed.

Jack’s gag reflex was triggered a couple of times when he allowed Ralph to rock a bit deeply into his mouth, but he quickly learned to relax and combat that by breathing entirely through his nose, gathering Ralph’s thick scent. Jack was greedy for him, for every sound, every scent, and for every taste. He wanted to consume all of Ralph, and he never wanted to share any part of him ever again. This, everything Ralph was giving him, was all his.

_You’re mine. You’re mine. You’ll always be mine._ If Jack didn’t know exactly how Ralph would react to those words, then he would express them quite powerfully. Repeatedly. Thoroughly.

He felt as if whatever was already binding them together from their experience and obsession over each other on the island, he was only creating more of that sticky, tangled, and unbreakable netting between them. A little at a time until Ralph was fully within his grasp, forever bound to him.

Ralph released a harsh sound, his body tensing, and his fingers curling roughly into Jack’s hair, reaching a familiar peak. Jack roughly pulled him forward, deeper into him, sucking him, his strong fingers likely bruising Ralph’s hips in his grasp. It was enough to pull Ralph crudely over the edge, hearing his cry and feeling the pulse of his cock as he spilled. Jack choked again for a brief moment before he stubbornly continued to suck on Ralph, the back of his mouth briefly accepting the intrusion with the motion.

Jack listened as Ralph’s groans grew less with each relaxed throb through his orgasm. His fingers moved from Ralph’s hips to massage at his softening scrotum once more before he allowed him to slide out of his mouth, breathing heavily. His lips and chin were drenched with saliva and he reached lazily for another tissue on the table next to them to wipe that away.

Ralph was also catching his breath and racing heart, the warmth of his release enveloping him in a way he’d never felt before. Words and thoughts were effectively silenced as he caressed through Jack’s hair, a new kind of heavy affection in the touch.

Jack shivered with the soft scrap of Ralph’s nails against his scalp as he rested his cheek against Ralph’s thigh, looking at him with that same, intense gaze from before. His lips curled as his fingertips explored along the bottom of Ralphs chest beneath the crumpled half of his shirt.

Ralph’s eyes found Jack’s, and there was a genuine smile in them this time, the sort of smile that made Jack’s heart tremble in a terrifying and uneasy way. His own smile faltered a little with the unexpected feeling.

“That was… fucking brilliant…” Ralph murmured sluggishly in his afterglow.

Jack sucked in a slight breath, an amused sound following as he pressed his lips briefly against Ralph’s thigh. It took pure determination to pick himself up from the floor, feeling the tightness in his own trousers, the bulge unmistakable.

Ralph started to pick himself up from the chair as well, his eyes straying to Jack’s crotch before glancing up at him. “Jack—”

Before Ralph could finish whatever thought he was concocting, Jack nodded toward the bed.

“C’mon. Bed. You’re exhausted,” his tone was casual enough, but it was addled with the sort of directive that he expected to be followed. It was one that Ralph typically fought against, but he knew when to pick his battles. The blonde stood and gave Jack a lingering glance as he made his way over toward the bed, starting to unbutton his wrinkled shirt.

“What about you?”

Jack didn’t need to ask for clarification, but he also didn’t respond to Ralph’s question as he watched him fully undress, tossing the shirt to the floor before he made his way onto the bed. Jack had never seen him entirely nude before, and he was struck by his appearance. His torso was smooth, but with an appealing definition from the sports he enjoyed playing.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, a hint of his previous smirk shining through as he gave him a slow once-over. Ralph pulled his covers over himself, curling up contentedly on his side.

“That isn’t exactly what I’d like to be called, idiot…” the blonde scoffed.

Even with his protest, Jack could detect the sleepiness in Ralph’s heavy limbs, in the slowness of his voice.

“Yeah, well, get used to me saying whatever the hell I want,” Jack quipped. “Although I’d wager that you’re already quite used to that.”

“What about you, Jack?” Ralph murmured, his eyes closing as he seemed to be losing the battle against sleep, but still repeating his unanswered question from earlier.

“Not tonight,” Jack answered shortly, leaving it at that.

He gave Ralph one last lingering glance before he moved to gather his own book bag, his hand briefly over his own mouth to ensure that it was clean enough before he let himself out, softly closing Ralph’s door behind him.

The corridors were dark and mostly emptied by this point, so Jack took his time with making it back to his own dormitory, his mind replaying the intensity of what had just occurred.

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A long moment passed before Ralph’s breathing evened out, signaling a deep sleep that wouldn’t easily be interrupted before the gentle creak of the wardrobe disturbed the thick silence, the door swinging open slowly as Roger maneuvered out from the crevice. He moved slowly and methodically out into the center of the room, his fingertips casually swinging the letter opener.

Roger had watched the entirety of what happened through the crack in the wardrobe, feeling only the mounting and terrifyingly real betrayal from Jack sinking deeply along with his emblazoned hatred for the sleeping blonde in the bed who had ensnared Jack in a way that Roger had never seen before. Roger had only ever seen Jack as a powerful leader, violent and unrestrained. And he didn’t want to share that with anyone or anything.

He stalked closer, a growing shadow over Ralph’s bed, still swinging the letter opener until he rested the pointed end along the edge of Ralph’s sleeping form, dragging it softly and slowly up the side of his body.

Roger’s fingers trembled with fragile restraint. He wanted so badly to press it into him, to press all his weight into it, to see it sink into his body in the same way that Ralph had sunk into Jack’s mouth. Roger’s dark eyes glittered with the thought, and he felt a stirring of warm excitement with the idea.

“Someday, little pig,” he murmured quietly. Roger moved to purposefully set the letter opener on Ralph’s bedside table instead of the desk.

A smile cracked his expression before he turned to make his way out of Ralph’s dorm, closing the door just as quietly as Jack had.

As Roger made his way through the emptied corridors, the wind from an oncoming winter storm made the structure groan as old buildings typically did with harsh weather. He ignored the eerie sounds as he mentally mapped out the most direct route to Jack’s dormitory. A route that had long been memorized and utilized in past ventures.

Typically, Roger would hold off confronting Jack after he’d thought over every detail, planned everything out meticulously, but he had a special taste for it tonight. Vulnerability to a hunter was like freshly spilt blood to a famished predator.

Irresistible.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so awesome, thanks for the support! If you enjoyed my writing, feel free to support me on ko-fi! (https://ko-fi.com/amrye) It's greatly appreciated!


	15. Something Beautiful

_“Beauty is found in someone who loves your body and soul. Who doesn't define you, but sees you. Who loves what he sees. Who you don't have to struggle to be good enough for.”_

_-Deb Caletti_

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It was a long and awkward journey back to his dormitory with the uncomfortable tightness trapped between his legs after his encounter with Ralph. Jack had his book bag hanging close in front of his torso to hide the bulge in his trousers. It was a few long minutes before he finally slinked back within the confines of his room that he shared with one of the roommates randomly assigned to him at the beginning of the year. A transfer choir student with thick glasses and a well-pimpled face named Jon. He was mild-mannered and seemed perpetually terrified of Jack, always mumbling excuses and bolting whenever they crossed paths.

Emerging within their shared room, Jon was immediately visible by the wardrobe, standing in his nightclothes and preparing to head to the communal washroom. His wide eyes blinked over Jack’s form bursting through the door and he fumbled with his toiletries to take with him for his nightly ritual.

“Take your time. I need it,” Jack ordered as he threw his bag onto his desk. He didn’t even need to look to know that Jon was hurrying out of the room and likely wouldn’t be back for quite some time.

He gripped at the edge of his desk with white knuckles, teeth sinking into his lip as he thought over what had just transpired. Jack didn’t want to leave Ralph’s room for the duration of the night, but he knew better than to push his luck, to push Ralph too harshly in the direction that he wanted him to go. Jack’s breath tightened, a shiver shooting through his frame as he slid his fingers down his abdomen, undoing his trousers before he started to palm himself.

It hardly took long with the taste of Ralph still on his tongue and the memory of his body still bright, like hot embers, as he worked himself into a quick, but abrasive release. Jack sucked in a sharp breath, leaning with one hand still clawing at the edge of the desk while the other was wrapped around himself, slowing as he felt the sticky wetness spreading between his fingers.

With his heart still pounding, but starting to slow with temporary contentment, Jack started to pull himself back up. He cleaned his hand with tissue before fixing his trousers right as a knock resounded at his door. A sharp one. Twice.

It was too confident to be Jon, but not demanding enough to be most of the other boys in this area of the corridor that Jack was aware of. He didn’t feel like seeing anyone, but he knew that it was better to get whatever this was over with quickly.

“Come in,” he called out, stretching his arms tiredly behind his head as icy eyes slid over to the doorframe where he was soon met with a familiar dark gaze. His shadow.

“The hell are you doing here, Roger?” Jack’s tired voice sounded as he leaned against his bedpost, giving Roger an equally lazy regard.

Roger moved forward, half shoving the door behind him closed with the side of his leg, his hardened stare not leaving Jack’s. Although the differences were incremental at best, Jack could see the way that Roger’s eyes shown with a rare kind of fury. Roger wasn't known for wearing his emotions like Jack did. Jack was about to say something, but Roger beat him to it.

“I know what you’re doing with Medevane. I know why you’ve been so fucking mental lately,” Roger’s voice seemed calm, but the edges were barely shaking with the containment that he was so well-known for. He took another step closer. Jack felt like ice had entered his veins, the flutter of acidic panic burning his stomach.

“I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“Oh, you can stop the theatrical lying, Merridew,” Roger murmured, a sharpened edge to his voice.

The ice spread from Jack’s veins to the muscles in his face. He was gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw was starting to ache, his eyes unflinchingly on Roger’s.

“So that’s it, Merridew? You like boys?” Roger extended his hand, grasping at the front of Jack’s shirt and pushing him back so hard so that his spine was pinned to the bedpost. “And what is it about Medevane? Nothing’s changed since the island. You still admire him, don’t you? You still want to be standing next to him, even if he hates your sodding guts. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if you want to _be_ him. Is that why you’re fucking him, then? Is that the next best thing?”

No one had ever confronted him with this before. Jack could hear and feel the pounding of his pulse in his ears, each breath was shortened and rough, but he couldn’t get his voice to work. His feet cemented to the floor. Muscles frozen in place.

Roger continued.

“And you’re still letting him hurt you. I can see it.”

Before Jack could attempt to get his voice working again, and before he could make a move, Roger pushed up against Jack, pressing his mouth hard against his. It was wet and it tasted bitter, like stale blood mixed with burnt lead. Jack took in a panicked breath through his nostrils before shoving Roger so hard that he collided against the desk. He spat on the floor, wiping his mouth against his wrist as he tried to rid the taste invading his senses.

“What the fuck was that for?!” Jack seethed.

Roger chuckled, a dark grin smeared across his features, eyes shining with satisfaction as he peered back at Jack from where he was half slumped against the desk. Rage shimmered hotly in Jack’s veins with the sound as he lunged forward without thought, his fist connecting harshly with Roger’s smirk. He felt the distinctive crack of cartilage against his knuckles and bright blood erupted, warm and fast down Roger’s nose and onto his torso, some of it on Jack’s hand and spackled over his shirt.

“Never touch me like that again, bastard,” Jack hissed, fisting Roger’s shirt as he pulled him close before shoving him back.

To Roger’s credit, with whatever pain was radiating from his expression, the blood covering half his face, making him look like some dark creature that had crawled its way of out of Hell, he held his composure.

“You know what, Jack?” Roger replied. “I don’t even think you’re that much into blokes. I’ve never seen you with one before. I think it’s Ralph… You’re so fucking obsessed with him. It’s revolting.“

Jack saw red when he heard Roger’s declaration, and this time he found his words with an incredible heat fueling his voice. “You don’t get to say what I am, and you don’t get to judge what I do! You’re the last person in the world qualified to judge me. If I’m revolting, then so you are for being such a fucking psychopath.”

He lunged forward again, pushing Roger hard against the desk so that he now had his back pinned against the wood, knocking all of Jack’s items there to the floor, pencils and papers scattered. Jack’s icy gaze glittered with malice over him.

“I’m done lying about it. Yes, I want Ralph. And nothing is going to change that fact. I won’t allow you to get in the way. You’re not to go anywhere near him again. Furthermore, I don’t want to see you anywhere near me either. If you decide to follow me or get up in my face again, I’m going to do far worse to you.” Jack released Roger before taking a step back from the desk, his expression cold and loathing.

A line had been drawn in the sand.

“Get out,” he spat.

Roger bared his teeth briefly as he got up from the desk, looking at Jack in a way that one predator might challenge another. “You’ll come back, Jack. When Ralph hurts you, leaves you behind like rubbish… you’ll know where to find me.”

Jack’s lips pressed tightly together, his words held fast as he watched Roger making his way from his room, only then starting to wipe at the blood smeared across his face.

The redhead moved over swiftly to shove the door closed once Roger had departed, only then slamming his bloodied fist against the heavy door repeatedly until the unbridled heat within him started to dissipate.

Obscenities painted his turbulent thoughts, unmindful of his skinned knuckles as he retreated and tried to calm himself.

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Ralph had a restful sleep, probably the best that he’d had in a long time, devoid of the fanatical nightmares of shadows with pointed sticks coming at him from the canopy of dripping wetness, at times that would morph into the more civil backdrop of England. Instead, his sleep was deep and peaceful, and there was a sense of calm refreshment when he woke.

It was to such an extent, that he didn’t notice the misplacement of his sharp letter opener on the bedside table as opposed to his desk where he last left it. Nothing seemed amiss in his mind, and there was a new lightness spreading in his chest.

As Ralph washed and readied himself in the morning, working the tie over his neck, he caught himself humming one of the everyday morning hymns from mass. Lifting his eyes to his reflection in the mirror, he noted that his eyes seemed clearer, the dark circles beneath them lessened. A proper smile still seemed out of reach, but everything else felt a hell of a lot lighter than before. The corners of his mouth twitched amusedly in memory of last night with Jack, matched with the quick warming of his skin. As his thoughts delved further, his chest tightened and ached in a pleasant way, a new feeling that he was steadily becoming accustomed to.

And he knew, as crazy as it sounded, he wanted to see Jack again.

Once in the dining area, Ralph sat at their usual table for breakfast, his eyes immediately seeking out the corner where the choristers typically sat, searching for a familiar shock of red hair. Unfortunately, it was absent.

Mulling over his thoughts and trying to ignore the disappointment, he continued to eat, although his gaze continued to frequently search as the crowds began to grow thicker and more vibrant. Irene eventually came to sit next to him, snaring Ralph out of his preoccupation.

“You seem to be getting better,” she remarked. “Eating without prompt. You don’t seem tired. I daresay, you even look happy.”

Ralph snorted, and he glanced over at her with the smallest hint of a smile. “I had a good night.”

“Oh? What was different about it?”

His mind shifted to the memory of Jack’s warm mouth on him, the scratch of his hair against his thighs, and the heat and rush of the varying emotions in that moment with his back pressed harshly against the chair, his hips angling to get closer to him.

“I…” Ralph’s voice broke, his face immensely hot. He swallowed thickly before his eyes trailed over to meet with Irene’s friendly gaze, watching him intently.

“It’s Jack…” he admitted. “He… we’re getting along better, I suppose.”

Irene reached out, her fingers squeezing over his. He knew that Sam or anyone else who had been on the island would immediately reproach him for getting close to Jack and for thinking anything less than outright animosity toward him. It was the refreshing reality of having a friend who hadn’t been there. There was no judgement in her eyes, no reproach.

“That’s a good thing,” Irene remarked.

She took a slow breath before continuing, in a quieter voice in an effort to keep their conversation private from eavesdroppers. “I know Merridew has a bit of a reputation here. As you know, my family has known his for a long time. I'm aware of the kind of household he grew up in…” Her eyes briefly reflected something like sadness and pity, a look that Ralph knew that Jack wouldn’t tolerate. “I don’t think Jack is as terrible as everyone credits him for. Comparatively, to what he could’ve been beneath his father.”

Ralph felt a renewed interest in Irene’s knowledge of the Merridew family, so much so that he’d completely abandoned his breakfast in that moment. “What do you mean?”

“Jack’s father is… well, to put it bluntly, he’s atrocious,” Irene muttered, her eyes dropping to the table. “Unfortunately, he’s the wealthy sort with a large corporation to his family name. It doesn’t give my father much more accolades to be willing to put up with the ruthless manner in which he conducts business. Mr. Merridew can get away with behaving however he’d like with that amount of influence and power at his disposal. And he attempted to rear Jack in the same way.”

Ralph felt a chill run through his body with the memory of Mr. Merridew’s gaze on him, the briefness of their encounter that left him feeling numb and uneasy.

“I met him… briefly. He mentioned my mother,” Ralph muttered.

Irene’s eyes widened slightly. Internal indecision seemed to be brewing over her tight expression. “I’ve… heard stories from my parents gossiping about Mr. Merridew and your mother. Supposedly, he loved her… Even well after she was married. I don’t suppose your father ever mentioned anything about Mr. Merridew?”

Ralph’s brow furrowed, tightness growing in his chest with the information matched with Irene’s question. “No, he didn’t. My father… doesn’t really speak to me. I did receive a letter from him for my birthday. He’s always off at some port, performing his duties in the Royal Navy.” He sighed, pushing around the soggy eggs on his plate.

“I used to be so proud of him, boasting to friends that my father was a wartime hero. But… now he’s more like a ghost to me. He’s the sort hero that I only hear about in stories. Not someone that I actually know. My father essentially disappeared into his work after my mum’s death. And was even less available after I was rescued from the island. I’m really on my own.”

“I’m sorry, Ralph,” Irene murmured, much softer. She reached with both of her hands to hold Ralph’s, warming his fingers.

Irene bit at her lip before speaking again. “You know, Ralph… Jack may physically have his parents, but in many ways, they’re just as absent as yours. And in some situations, whenever his father is around, it’s led to mistreatment. The two of you have more in common than you think.” A hint of a smile emerged as she squeezed Ralph’s hand once more. “And… for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a bad thing that you’re being friendly with him. He needs something better than those chorister bullies he used to hang about.”

“Used to?” Ralph snorted. “Isn’t he always hanging about that sort?”

“Well…” Irene's shoulders shrugged lightly. “Not really. Not in the way that he used to. He’s been… different this year. Not in a bad way. Although, I do hear that he’s been more involved in fights lately. Like last night.”

“Ah, yeah… I was there,” Ralph shifted, pulling his hand away, heat bathing his face with the memory of Jack jumping into the fray of the fight for him. “He was defending me against those arsehole choristers.”

Irene’s expression softened. “See… he’s not so bad. I suppose that explains why he isn’t sitting with them.”

Ralph glanced up with her statement, following her gaze to the section of the dining area where most of the choristers were currently sitting, many of them still donning their black robes from morning mass. He caught the familiar shade of messy red making his way over to one of the vacant tables. Even though his back was to them, Ralph could detect his wrinkled school uniform and overall disheveled appearance, the slight slouch within his usually confident shoulders. It seemed that he didn’t get the blissful sleep that Ralph had enjoyed.

The blonde’s chest tightened slightly.

Whatever Irene saw in Ralph’s face, she nudged him warmly. “I’m finished eating, so I’m getting back to some studying before class. You should sit with him. No one else has the guts.”

She gave him one last smile before taking her tray and getting up from where she was sitting. Ralph’s jaw tightened with the idea of doing such a thing out in the open, with various eyes on him. He rolled Irene’s words around in his thoughts before he made his decision, his fingers pinching the edges of his breakfast tray a little too tightly as he stood and made his way across the sea of tables and classmates.

Ralph saw the way that other students avoided even walking too closely to where Merridew was sitting, probably whispering about the beating that he had given his so-called friends in the corridors last night.

Hot-headed, unpredictable, dangerous.

He cleared his throat a little, alerting Jack to his presence, before taking the seat next to him, pushing his tray back slightly, as he wasn’t really interested in eating. He noted that Jack’s tray was, likewise, mostly untouched.

Jack’s pale gaze slid over toward him, slightly widened in caution and confusion. With some amusement, Ralph caught Jack glancing briefly over his shoulder at the table where Ralph had come from, now emptied. So, Jack _had_ been entirely aware of where Ralph had been sitting previously, which made him wonder how long Jack had been watching him without his noticing.

“Careful, Medevane. You might tarnish your lovely reputation,” Jack drawled dryly. He sounded as tired as he looked, running a hand briefly through his messy hair.

“What reputation?” Ralph countered, a hint of a wry tone. “As far as I know, I’m still the new bloke that doesn’t quite know where he’s supposed to fit in.”

Jack made a quiet, bemused sound as he rested his jaw against his knuckles, turning his full attention on Ralph. He could’ve sworn that there was a hint of a curve to his thin lips. The same pair of lips running along Ralph’s skin and between his legs. He felt his face slowly reddening once more as his eyes lingered on Jack’s mouth.

“So, what about you, Merridew? Why aren’t you with your friends?” Ralph challenged him with the same line of questioning, lowering his voice.

“I don’t have friends,” Jack scoffed. There was a hardness to his pale eyes as he briefly glared down at his tray. “Not anymore anyway. I won’t be hanging around that lot.”

Ralph remembered the unchecked rage that Jack had displayed the night prior when he was ready to bash in Bill’s face along with the manner in which Maurice seemed to gawk at him from the sidelines, as if Jack were truly someone unrecognizable. Perhaps it was a natural consequence to where the tension among the choristers seemed to already to be heading, regardless of Ralph’s presence seemingly making things worse.

Still, the fact that Jack had jumped into the fight in his defense, with the soft way that he touched him last night, and how readily he seemed to abandon his friends without anything tangible in exchange, it was difficult for Ralph not to feel flattered. Not in any way that he was expecting. Not from Jack, of all people.

Ralph felt his heart skip, an acidic heat rushing through his veins as he tried to think of a way to verbalize this odd feeling. In all this time at the school, with their odd reunion, Ralph had never really been the one to initiate anything between the two of them. It was always Jack prodding at him, touching him, arguing with him, and kissing him. With Ralph feeling more like the intrigued, and occasionally resistant participant along for the insane ride.

Not once had he ever been the first one to show Jack that he wanted him back.

And the thought was terrifying. It confirmed the heat and the nearly sick feeling fluttering in his stomach.

The first honest step into forbidden territory.

“Jack,” Ralph murmured, getting his attention, and trying to ignore the shaking edge within his voice. When Jack’s eyes were on him, Ralph maintained eye contact, his stare briefly moving to one of the side doors to signal what he wanted to do. Jack followed his stare before locking his gaze back onto him.

The flutter in his stomach returned with a vengeance as he stood, abandoning his half-eaten tray as he shoved his hands in his school blazer pockets, walking as casually as he could over to the side entrance and glancing around the corner for where the nearest public toilet was.

As he neared the doors, he slowed his pace, picking at one of the loose threads on the edge of his sweater vest before glancing over his shoulder. Several sluggish seconds passed before he detected a hint of red from around the corner of the dining hall doorway, signaling Jack rounding the corner. Ralph turned back around and made his way into the toilet, checking the area to ensure that none of the few doors were closed, signaling occupancy.

Jack came in moments after Ralph did, blue eyes simultaneously curious, hesitant, and filled with the familiar hunger that Ralph had come to know rather well.

Ralph turned to face him, lips curling with confident amusement as he took a few casual steps backward, closer to the stall furthest away from them. Jack followed him wordlessly, closing the gap between them. Only their movements and soft breaths filled the heavy silence. As if speaking would damage the secret building between them.

The edge of the opened stall doorway grazed Ralph’s shoulder as he curled his fingers around the top of Jack’s tie, slowly pulling him close. The redhead complied; his head angling slightly down due to his height in order to maintained eye contact. For once, he wasn’t making any attempt to touch Ralph. As if there already existed some mutual, unspoken understanding that this was something that Ralph needed to follow through with.

A broken breath passed Ralph’s lips as he lured Jack with him next to the toilet, sealing the door closed behind them. His fingers slid from where he held Jack’s tie, spreading his fingers over his chest and pushing him against the wall.

His heartbeat felt thick and heavy in that quiet moment, pounding in his ears.

Jack looked back at him, desire heavy in his eyes, the confusion lessening as Ralph made his intentions clear. His lips parted slightly as he watched Ralph, mesmerized, and soaking in the heat of the moment.

Ralph stood up straighter as he pressed against Jack’s body. His eyelids lowered as fingers tangled in Jack’s red hair, capturing his lips urgently with his.

They both sucked in eager breaths through their nostrils as Jack grabbed at Ralph’s hips, his mouth accepting his. Ralph moved his lips against his with the same sort of strength and appealing grace that had held Jack's admiration captive for him from the first moment the blonde had assumed control over the island. The sort of appeal that society was naturally drawn to, the same breed of charming smiles worn by publicly accepted leaders. A controlled and beautifully decisive power. The thing that Jack envied, and hated, and lusted after the most.

Ralph grew more urgent, more daring the deeper that the kisses became. He parted his lips to taste Jack and he pulled Jack impossibly closer, leaving little space between their bodies. Clothes were both becoming quickly disheveled as Ralph started to grind his hips without shame against Jack’s. And the chorister’s fingers only gripped harder into Ralph’s hip to encourage the movement, eventually slipping along the curve of Ralph’s backside to push him up even more firmly against his pelvis.

Jack made a sound, something between a groan and a gasp when their kiss broke, his fingers curling into Ralph’s clothes as he tried to better grip over his body.

“Oh God,” Jack whispered, for once, not feeling at all in control of this encounter.

The blonde immediately understood how horny this was making Jack, as he was feverishly fumbling with Jack’s belt, leaving the leather pieces hanging before he dipped his fingers into his pants to pull Jack free. As Ralph started to press his fingers around him, Jack arched, plastering his back against the wall. His breath was heavy and quick as he dragged his fingers to the front of Ralph’s belt as well.

Unlike the time in the alleyway when Jack had pushed away Ralph’s attempt to reciprocate, Ralph allowed it.

Their mouths met for another wet, messy kiss as they continued to work each other up in that moment, stroking and fondling and grabbing. Everything else, including the awkward location of a toilet stall melted around them into meaningless background. All that mattered was where they connected and the explosive feeling building like uncontrolled fire between them.

With his free hand, Jack reached to grasp desperately at the top of the stall, his fingers white in his impassioned hold as he quickly approached his own release. His nose and mouth pressed down against the hollow of Ralph’s neck, trying to muffle the sound of pleasure as he spilled into Ralph’s hand. It was the kind of long-awaited release fueled by the fire of Jack’s disparaging emotions mixed with his long-held desire for the things he could never really have. It was one of the most intense orgasms he’d ever experienced, leaving him nearly shaking in his legs as he tried to remain standing properly. Even through the moment, he continued to squeeze and move his hand around Ralph until he could feel the other clawing at him down his back, trembling as the wetness spread against his palm.

Heavy breaths filled their space as they remained plastered together, Jack now leaning up against Ralph, just now realizing that he had him pinned to the opposite wall.

“You know how to make a statement,” Jack mumbled against his skin.

Ralph snorted, somewhat breathlessly. He pushed lightly at Jack’s shoulder to signal for him to pull back, which he did without protest. Reaching for the toilet roll, he started to wipe the mess from his hand. Jack did similarly as they righted their own clothes. Their eyes connected after a long, stifling moment.

“You won’t tell anyone,” Ralph found his voice. Although it was a statement, perhaps even a demand, it was almost posed as a question.

“Who would I tell?” Jack scoffed quietly. And after a slow exhale, he added more softly. “No, of course not.”

“This is serious. No one can know if we continue,” Ralph reiterated, trying to emphasis his point with someone that he knew was already unpredictable and was known for harboring a rather careless attitude with how others viewed him.

Jack gave an agitated sigh as he brushed his hair back from his eyes. His thoughts were already unsettlingly stuck on Roger from the night before with his threats, how he already harbored incriminating knowledge of what him and Ralph did behind closed doors. “Yes, I know, Ralph. I won’t tell a soul.”

He gnawed at his abused lip, knowing that despite it probably being a good idea to clue Ralph in on the situation, he didn’t want to potentially ruin this fragile understanding that they’d finally constructed. Not after years of being haunted by the blonde after their rescue, only to finally have him firmly within reach.

Ralph looked at Jack for another long moment before reaching up to grasp at his chin, stealing one more kiss before withdrawing to peel open the stall door. Jack's mouth felt impossibly warm and he pressed his lips together briefly to preserve the feeling.

“So… what’re your rules, then?” a flush was spreading across Jack's freckled face as he started to follow Ralph out, shouldering his bookbag that he’d previously dropped to the floor.

“Rules? What—you’re actually willing to follow rules now?” Ralph looked at him in the mirror as he started to wash his hands at one of the sinks.

“Yeah. As attractive as it is, I know we’re no longer exactly in a place where we can just say fuck the rules whenever we’d like,” Jack moved to wash his hands as well, keeping Ralph within his peripheral. Ralph seemed to think it over as he reached for one of the paper towels.

“For one… nothing in public anymore. Hell, being in here was a stupid risk. We’re lucky no one walked in. Perhaps… we restrict this whenever we’re in an empty dormitory. Or somewhere equally private.”

Jack felt like rolling his eyes for all the good that did them last night when Roger was supposedly hidden away somewhere in Ralph’s room. The thought that Roger was sneaking about Ralph's bedroom and had intruded on an intimate moment still made his blood simmer.

“In that case, why don’t you make it a habit of locking your bloody door whenever you’re out,” he frowned tightly as he shook the water from his fingertips.

“Fine,” Ralph muttered, sounding somewhat exasperated with Jack’s petulant tone. “Not that it should be a concern. Hardly anyone locks their doors.”

“Well, we’re not exactly dealing with normal classmates, now, are we? The likes of Roger or Bill and Maurice rely on someone like you being stupid and oblivious.”

“Who’re you calling stupid?” Ralph turned to face him, his eyes blazing with irritation. Jack raised his hands up slightly in mock surrender, trying to avoid getting into another fight that resulted in the two of them being angry for another set of endless days.

“Sorry—just, be careful,” Jack tried again, his voice noticeably more netural without a substantial amount of effort on his end. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as his eyes locked once more on the blonde. “Can we… I mean… even with the rules and being careful. Can we… be friends?”

Ralph blinked, taken aback with Jack’s sudden change in tone, how quiet and nearly vulnerable he became with that simple, seemingly normal question. Jack’s face was already flaring with redness and avoiding Ralph’s attempt to make eye contact. Ralph’s thoughts were brought back to Jack sitting by himself this morning, and the inference that Jack had just recently rejected his chorister friends. For what reason, Ralph could only imagine was in some way connected with the fight from the night before along with Ralph suddenly being involved in his life. A secret part of him wished that Jack had rejected them on the island too. But Ralph was also steadily starting to acknowledge that he shared the blame for his harsh, initial treatment of Jack.

He sighed, pushing those thoughts away. It was all in the past, and they were trying to make something different.

“I don’t see why not…” Ralph murmured, feeling a similar heat reflected in his own face. “Sam and Eric probably don’t want to hang about if you’re there… Not that I’ve seen Sam lately since Eric’s been gone. And I’ve gathered that you and Irene know each other somewhat amicably.”

Jack shrugged, although his jaw tightened with the mention of Irene. “Yeah, our families grew up together. Are you and her… together?”

“It’s… complicated, I suppose. It’s not like we’re officially going out or anything.”

“Are you having sex?” Jack asked rather bluntly.

“What—no! I was being honest when I told you that this is all new to me. Everything I’ve done with you has been a first, alright?” the heated irritation was creeping back into Ralph’s tone, although the redness in his face returned with a vengeance. He didn't understand how Jack could talk about such things so casually.

A smirk slipped over Jack’s features as he leaned against the side of the sink. “I prefer being your first.”

Ralph pushed at Jack’s shoulder in a rough and playful manner for the comment as he started to make his way out following the first ringing of the class bell, which only earned a bit of a laugh from Jack in return.

Ralph couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Jack genuinely laugh. Or smile, for that matter.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be the last. On his way to his first class, Ralph was already thinking of ways that he could integrate Jack’s request for friendship. A request that had gone unfulfilled, unsatisfied years back on the island, now startlingly present and aching to bloom amongst a bed of threats and poisoned nettles once more.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed my writing, feel free to support me on ko-fi! (https://ko-fi.com/amrye) Thank you!


	16. Beasts of a Different Name

_“We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin.”_

_\- André Berthiaume_

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Following their fragile understanding, Ralph made measures to be extraordinarily careful with Jack. Much like he would with an excitable new pet who wanted to jump up on him every chance it got.

Time was already strained between studying for exams and balancing daily life. His fingers perpetually cramped from writing long final reports before winter break. All of this was only matched with the frustration from Jack over the fact that they were unable to steal more moments in hidden corners and empty dormitories when privacy was afforded. Even then, the moments were so short and frequently interrupted, that it was questionable if they were worth finding at all.

Ralph’s room was typically the safest place to find quick kisses or feel-ups due to him being one of the few students who wasn’t given a roommate. Jack’s room was only an option when he was able to threaten the meek chorister, Jon, out of it for a time. Something which Ralph had snapped at Jack over the first time he’d witnessed it.

That had soured things and it nearly escalated into another fight. Thinking back on it now, Ralph hoped that didn’t make things worse for Jon in the end.

The blond was currently pouring over reports that he needed to have finished within the morning, working well into the night by the time he heard a sharp, short knock at his door before it was practically torn open. He didn’t have time to respond before Jack had planted himself inside, leaning against the door and giving Ralph an exasperated look.

“Jack, you know you can’t just barge in whenever you bloody well—” Ralph started, rubbing at his aching temple.

He was interrupted from finishing his thought before Jack rushed forward, grabbing at his chin, and pressing his lips over his. A sound of protest made itself known at the back of Ralph’s throat, but he softened and tried to move his mouth against his. Fingers gripped at his chair as he turned sideways toward Jack, right as he felt a strong grip at his thighs, trying to pull him up.

“Oi,” Ralph muttered after breaking the kiss. “Jack, we have exams tomorrow. I have to study. And so do you!”

Jack grunted, his insistent mouth instead pressing down the angle of Ralph’s neck. “You’re so annoying when you’re following the rules.”

His touches slowed all the same as he moved to sit in the second chair close to Ralph’s, tapered fingers dragging temptingly up and down the inside of Ralph’s thigh. The effect made Ralph’s mouth grow dry and he had to swallow to find enough saliva to speak.

“At least one of us has to. And we’ll get a break soon.” The usual uninspiring compromise.

“Yeah, but we’ll all be sent home after classes finish. I’m dreading going back,” Jack grumbled.

Ralph leaned his arm against the back of the chair, his attention wandering from his paper to the brooding chorister. “Why not? Do you have any idea how envious I am that everyone has a home and a family to go back to? Although, I suppose I’ll be staying with the Bradleys for Christmas. So, I do have a place. Of sorts.”

Jack huffed, sharp eyes briefly diverting to Ralph’s desk. Freckled cheeks reddened; his voice awkward with words that he didn’t seem accustomed to using. “You could stay at my place. If you want. It’d make my stay there more tolerable.”

“That’s terribly… dangerous,” Ralph muttered, although his heart fluttered with the idea. “Someone might notice us. We’d get careless, which you have a history of being.”

“I barely get attention at home as it is. I promise it’s not at as dangerous as you think. My father will have some business associates over for his yearly Christmas party. My mother will be inhaling brandy the entire time. And it’s common for me to bring at least one friend over. It was Roger last year. That allowance is my mother’s half-arsed attempt at soothing her guilt over being such a shoddy parent to begin with.”

Ralph didn’t respond right away, weighing and considering the possibility. He dragged his teeth back and forth over his lip in agitated thought while Jack’s attention seemed immediately drawn to the place of abuse.

“I’m… assuming you don’t really need to be anywhere else,” Jack voiced with care, almost quietly. A rare moment of him trying his best to avoid being cruel.

A chill crept in Ralph’s blood over the reality that he’d been avoiding since winter started, with the way that he needed to throw himself into his exams, with his relentless desire to get excellent marks. Ralph’s last letter from his father had been on his birthday months prior, and nothing since then. There was never any mention of him returning from overseas to be there for Christmas. It was akin to longing for a ghost. Ralph’s jaw started to ache with the tension that he didn’t realize that he was holding until he relaxed his fingers. A tightly gripped pen to rolled to the side of the desk.

“No,” Ralph clarified. “I’m not needed anywhere,” his eyes dropping to the wrinkles in his trouser leg, which he was straightening out in a distracted manner.

“If I want to be honest, I don’t think anyone particularly wants to see me.”

The abrasive groan of Jack’s chair pulled Ralph’s eyes back up to his, which were much closer now. Intent and rigid, but also edged with uncommon warmth.

“_I_ want you,” Jack emphasized with the typical blunt tone whenever he was preparing to challenge someone. “And I don’t think I need to present my case.”

A smirk pulled at Ralph’s lips as he drew close, his mouth barely grazing across Jack’s. Ralph’s mouth was always soft, while Jack’s was always harsh. Always tasting as salty as his words.

“You don’t need to,” he muttered. His voice was as light and breathy as the sort of kiss that he pulled Jack into. Ralph’s kisses were tender, almost romantic, in contrast with the demanding, barbed ones that Jack left behind like sores.

Jack was quickly learning that Ralph responded best with soft kisses and caresses, the sort that teased the threat of promises and hopes. He didn’t think that Ralph necessarily meant to show that vulnerable side to him, but Jack could see it just as clearly as a hunter would notice a rabbit with a weak leg. It was a want that Ralph seemed to pull at from somewhere deep within, spilling into his touch and painting the reactions that Jack could draw from him.

It was mesmerizing and oddly tragic all at once. Tragic, because Jack knew that he couldn’t fit himself into what Ralph needed the most.

And yet, he was also far too selfish to let Ralph go.

Jack pulled back from the kiss and he watched Ralph closely, his fingers against his cheek, admiring him for a moment. His skin was flushed, the traces of gold hair hanging over his brow, and the hazel-blue of his eyes, a color far warmer than his own. Jack’s heart trembled, his throat tightened as he pulled his hand away, standing up.

“I’m letting you study,” he decided as he started gathering his own things. “I hope you’ll decide to come with me after classes are over.”

Ralph didn’t have time to respond before Jack was suddenly out his door and gone before he could respond.

It was an odd departure.

Usually Ralph had to be the one prying Jack off and pushing him out the door. Sometimes to the extent that boys passing by the corridor were suspicious that the two were having yet another fight. Not that it would’ve surprised anyone. Jack now had a lengthy reputation for starting stupid brawls.

Instead, Ralph was the one moving to quietly close the door after Jack.

He tried to put it out of his mind as the rest of the night was spent making use of his time finishing the last of his reports that would be handed in right when the early classes started.

It wasn’t long before Ralph found a comfortable niche on the side of his bed, having quickly fallen asleep next to several books that had migrated over to his side. And when his alarm rang, he was only making half an effort to look presentable.

And so, only presented with somewhat messy hair and a wrinkled school uniform, Ralph handed in all of his neatly scribed reports with pride. He was also quick to pen in responses for the lengthy exams that followed.

It was only after the hourly bell resonated near the chapel, signaling the anticipated last hour of school for this year, that he allowed himself to easily breathe. Ralph was presently leaning against the corridor wall as he loosened his school tie. Students were filling the dining hall, chatting, and laughing loudly as the staff began to serve dinner.

Ralph didn’t have the moment long to himself before he felt Jack’s boney knuckles playfully hitting at his shoulder, standing before him with a mock critical once-over. “You look a mess.”

“Thanks,” Ralph muttered dryly.

“I like it,” Jack’s mischievous grin bloomed, an almost lewd tone touching his voice, daring the boundary while there was a flood of students continuing to spill around them. Ralph’s pulse leapt in alarm.

“For fuck’s sake, Jack,” he grumbled.

Only one of the passing students stopped with Ralph’s warning tone, turning around, revealing Sam’s pinched face. Confusion flitted in his eyes as he glanced between the two of them.

“Everything alright, Ralph?” Sam asked, trying to keep his eyes on the blond, only occasionally side-eyeing Jack.

“It’s fine, Sam,” Ralph sighed. At the same time, Jack’s smile morphed into an irritated glare as he shifted his focus onto Sam. Other passing students offered the smallest glances before moving on, most of them either uncaring or unwilling to offer too much attention with Jack standing there.

“Why’re you here?” Jack growled.

“I…” Sam grew pale, shrinking back marginally. “I’m just checking on Ralph.”

“He’s clearly fine. Why the hell wouldn’t he be?” Jack’s eyes took on the sheen of ice. Ralph calmly muttered Jack’s name as he tried to pull his shoulder back, which Jack promptly brushed off. Sam watched all of this, his brow furrowing in further confusion.

“Because Roger is the reason why Eric is in the hospital,” Sam spoke again, finding strength in his voice. “And I don’t want that happening to anyone else.”

“What?! Eric’s in the hospital?” Ralph’s insides suddenly felt heavy.

“Yes… well… he was. Now he’s being transferred to another place where he can receive help. He… barely speaks. It’s like he’s not really there.” Sam’s eyes shifted to the ground, hugging his books against his chest. “I’m going to visit him again right before Christmas.”

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Ralph took a slow breath, the heaviness resting in his stomach crept his throat. “May I come with you to visit him? More friendly faces for him and all... If that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah…” Sam nodded, looking up at Ralph with the smallest hint of a smile. “I’m sure he’ll like that. My Dad was going to drive me to see him. We can pick you up… wherever you’re staying during break. Just give us a ring.”

“Great, I’ll do that… I’ll be staying over at Merridew’s, actually. I’m sure you remember where that is,” Ralph confirmed, feeling his face warm over. He wanted to tell Jack privately first, but this would have to do. He could feel Jack react next to him, the heat of his stare.

“Wh-What?” Sam’s eyes trailed between Ralph and Jack. His bewilderment even more visible than before, eyes wide and his hands clenching at his books.

“I… I mean, okay. Yeah. I remember. I’ll see you then, Ralph.”

Ralph confirmed his intention to be there before Sam turned and made his way further down the corridor, walking much faster than he had before. Jack shuffled.

“You meant that? You’re coming with me?” he sounded vulnerable, uncertain. Ralph could see the contrast more vividly when matched with the brash way that Jack had been behaving for the past couple of weeks.

“Yes… I’d like that,” he muttered before adjusting the strap to his book bag and starting to make his way inside the dining hall. “Coming?”

Jack only stood, somewhat dumbfounded, for a moment before quickly trailing after Ralph.

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A gloomy forecast, clouds heavy with threatening snow, hung low over the school as some of the students were reunited with family outside the confines of the property. Despite the colorless appearance, the chill wasn’t harsh enough to deter some students from waiting outside, either chatting with each other or otherwise enjoying the stillness of winter. A stillness free of the harsh and vibrant shades of inner conflict.

Ralph was of the latter variety.

He didn’t have many belongings in his dormitory, so he decided to pack nearly all his things for the extended weeks long break away from the school, away from classes, and away from pretending to fit in with the other sixteen-year-olds who only ever worried about miniscule problems.

For once, he was liberated from the stiffness of his school uniform. Ralph dressed simply in a thick knitted sweater tucked beneath a nicer coat that his father had gotten him last year. He’d never been particularly fashionable, but he was always clean and presentable.

Ralph’s eyes caught on the attentive parents that greeted their children and assisted with carrying their luggage into vehicles. It was interesting to him what sorts of families everyone came from and how it shaped or didn’t ultimately shape who they were.

He spotted Bill and Maurice before they had left. Both seemed to come from normal families with parents who hugged and greeted and assisted with getting their suitcases into nice cars. So, how did that translate into them eventually picking up spears and crying out for blood?

Ralph stood alone with his large suitcase perched alongside him, chilled fingers pressed into his coat pockets, remembering his father’s age-lined features, and trying his best to recall how he looked with a smile. He couldn’t remember. It had been too long since he’d last smiled at him.

A slow exhale escaped Ralph’s chapped lips right when a shadow entered his peripheral line of sight. He turned a tad, greeted with the image of Roger wearing some sort of gauze and medical tape across the bridge of his nose. He’d seen enough of those to know that it’d been broken. Still, Ralph could feel his confused brow furrow with the sight.

“What happened to you?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Roger groused. Ralph noticed that the other was keeping a modest distance from him, which was odd, considering their last heated encounter.

“You expect me to care enough to keep track of you and whichever bloke decided to break your face?” Ralph muttered, already turning back to resume watching the line of cars here to pick up students, hoping that Roger wasn’t going to be a further annoyance.

“What—he didn’t tell you?” Roger sounded mildly amused.

Ralph could see Roger’s shadow growing in his vision once more, drawing closer. He turned to face him, his body tensing, preparing for some kind of fight. Roger had only proved time and again that he always seemed to carry some sort of penchant for instigating arguments or otherwise unpredictable violence.

“Who?”

Roger searched Ralph with his heavy, lingering gaze. After a long moment, a smile that seemed to mock the winter chill around them touched his expression. “Jack,” he finally responded.

Ralph stilled for a long moment, processing. “Jack? Why?”

Roger snorted. His eyes bore even harder into Ralph, giving rise to the sudden desire to have something to defend himself with. Ralph’s jaw tightened and he took a half step back, but still refused to break eye contact.

“You know what, Ralph?” Roger resumed speaking. His voice as soft as the freshly fallen snow dusting the ground. “Just like Jack, I don’t think you’re a poof either. You’re too stuck in your ways. I think you’re sick… I think you’ve been broken for too long… and it’s made you sick. And that’s why I want you to leave Jack alone. Before you make him sick, too. He was doing just fine, perfect, in fact, before you dropped into our lives again.”

Ralph felt like a rock had been dropped into his stomach. His breath heavy, a wave of sickness tightening his insides. Roger knew. He _knew_.

“Wh-What did you call me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Ralph,” Roger’s voice reflected mock concern, like a mother to her child. He took a step closer and Ralph felt too rooted to the ground to back away. “I know you’re an idiot, so be polite in return and don’t treat me like one. Do you want to know what I see? I see you… barely holding it together, a disaster waiting to happen, a true nutter. Although you’re better at hiding it than most others… I’ll give you that.”

Ralph swallowed tightly, his fingers squeezing into his palms within his coat pockets.

“Play nice with me, Ralph… and I won’t touch you. I won’t finish the job and break you all the way through. It wouldn’t be hard. You’re already so damaged. And I think you know how much fun I would get out of it.” And the thought did seem to make him happy, the smile was like a fracture across his face, his dark eyes held a wicked sheen.

“Just like I did to Eric. Then you could join him in the nutter house. You could be a pretty mess together.”

“You’re insane,” Ralph’s teeth grit, his words in a near hiss.

“No less than you are,” the corner of Roger’s mouth lifted.

Ralph shook his head slightly, his gaze sliding off briefly to the haze of the snow-laden trees and buildings nearby. “If you know me as well as you think you do, then do you really think someone who was willing to be gutted and burned instead of bending to someone else is going to simply roll over and ‘play nice’ with you?”

Roger laughed again, this time with genuine amusement. “No… No, I don’t expect that from you at all, Ralph. I always knew you were different from the other filthy pigs. So defiant, pretty, and strong. I can see why Jack’s obsessed with you. And that’s exactly why breaking you will be the most fun out of all of them.”

Another step was taken in Ralph’s direction, nearly touching him. The blond didn’t back down, but he felt his breath deepening, staring back at Roger. His eyes starting to burn from not daring to blink.

“I’m not letting you hurt anyone else,” Ralph whispered.

In that split second, Roger was shoved to the side. He stumbled, but didn’t quite lose his footing. And like an avenging devil, Jack entered Ralph’s vision, his hair a fiery, wind torn mess and his eyes blazing with such frenzied anger. Ralph knew that anyone standing in his path would be unlucky. Jack shifted his glare from Roger to Ralph briefly. He dropped his heavy suitcase.

“Did he do anything to you?” there was a heaviness in Jack’s voice, simultaneously catching his breath. He must’ve spotted them from far away and sprinted over. Ralph’s face erupted in irritated heat.

“_No_, he didn’t. You hardly need to—” Ralph didn’t finish his statement before Jack turned to advance toward Roger, his fingers clenched and his eyes seeing only red as he focused all of his attention on the other boy.

“I told you not to go anywhere near him!” The ugly tones smearing Jack’s voice told Ralph that he was seriously going to hurt Roger. Adults and witnesses be damned.

Ralph reached forward and grabbed hard at Jack’s arm, using his strength to pull him back. “Jack, stop it! He’s not worth being suspended over.”

And for once, it worked.

Ralph was an athlete for most of his life, having participated in a variety of sports, so he utilized that strength when he needed to. Jack stumbled back and his arm muscles tightened beneath Ralph’s grip, but he didn’t work himself free like he normally would have. He continued to seethe at Roger, fingers clamped into fists.

“Let him go, Jack. We’re about to start break and I’ll not have you in trouble at the very start of it over something so stupid,” Ralph’s voice was decidedly calmer than before. He noticed that Jack’s fingers were slowly starting to relax, his back straightening.

A black car approached alongside the street-side curb ahead. It must’ve been familiar to Jack because he leaned over to grasp at his own suitcase that he had haphazardly dragged behind him while running. The tall chorister shot Roger one last pointed glare before making his way over to the parked car.

“Come on, Ralph,” he grumbled.

Ralph relinquished his hold over Jack, stunned that he had listened to him instead of throwing himself into another fight. Roger was also staring at Jack as if he’d suddenly morphed into something grotesque. Puzzled and seemingly furious with this strange turn of events. Ralph could see it in the way that Roger’s jaw tightened, his eyes training intensely on the pair.

The blond picked up his own suitcase and started following Jack out to the shiny black car, a light dusting of snow over the top. The driver had gotten out and was assisting with getting both of their suitcases into the boot. His professional, yet cold, lack of pleasantries gave him away as one of the many hired workers for the Merridews.

No parent in sight.

Jack waited for Ralph to get inside the car first before he slid across the back seat next to him. As he glanced toward the window, Ralph caught how Roger’s dark gaze continued to follow them as the car pulled away.

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.

Once they arrived at the Merridew manor, it was a flurry of activity that Ralph wasn’t expecting. There seemed to be more servants than usual, as a pair of them took away their luggage with hardly a word. In nearly every room and corridor, there was a substantial amount of rushing, barked orders, and coordinated decorating.

Jack caught the way that Ralph had glanced at him, as his shoulders raised slightly in a shrug before grabbing Ralph to pull him to the side as a servant rushed passed them in a near collision, carrying a bundle of parcels wrapped in butcher paper.

“Watch it,” Jack snipped. The man bumbled an apology.

Ralph felt Jack’s fingers linger over his arm as they continued down the main corridor, though he didn’t say a word about it.

“Is this typical? I don’t remember this many servants the last time I was here,” Ralph muttered, eyeing the ridiculous number of hired help in the main center of the home, setting up Christmas decorations and readying the largest tree that he’d ever seen for festivities. It felt like there was hired help dedicated to every single task, no matter how menial.

“Yeah, somewhat,” Jack’s eyes grazed over the servants and the décor in disinterest. “My Father only makes a big deal out of it because it’s when he secures his yearly agreements and dealings with all of his business associates. It’s just a show.”

“It must be a grand party,” Ralph couldn’t help the slight awe as he saw the meticulous details of the dining area with the gold-lined porcelain, the fresh flowers being arranged, and the sheer number of candles and lights being readied and hung. The scent of ham, cheeses, and the spicy musk of mince pies and mulled wine wafting from the kitchens caught Ralph’s attention the most. His stomach tightened in desire.

Jack snorted.

“It’s not all as lovely as you might think it is,” he drawled, his fingers tightening slightly over Ralph’s arm when he noticed some familiar faces filtering into the foyer. Many of which harbored the same striking shade of red hair, and several more with the same, nearly colorless blue eyes.

“Watch yourself while you’re here,” he continued. And a smirk was briefly visible as Jack glanced over toward Ralph. “Especially considering most of the other choristers will be in attendance come Christmastime.”

“What?” Ralph glared, wrenching his arm back firmly. “Why didn’t you tell me this _before_ you asked me to be here? I don’t want to be in the same room as all of them!”

“Then you wouldn’t have agreed to come,” a mischievous gleam entered Jack’s eyes that Ralph was all too familiar with by now.

“You manipulative bastard,” the blond hissed. “If you think that I’m going to stay one more moment—”

“Wait, wait,” a ring of panic entered Jack’s voice as he attempted to reach for Ralph’s arm once more, which the blond deftly moved away from. Jack’s fingers grasped at air.

“They’ll only be here one night. One night. And it’s only because their families have ties to my father’s business. That’s all. It wouldn’t have been my choice if it actually _were_ my choice. You think I want to be in the same room with them anymore than you do?”

Ralph recalled seeing Jack sitting alone during mealtimes for several days prior, the fights that he’d gotten into with Roger, Maurice, and Bill, along with his general distaste whenever they were brought up in conversation. And seeing the hot disdain in Jack’s eyes now, Ralph believed him. Ralph’s shoulders relaxed and the tight suspicion in his brow gradually smoothed.

“I can handle them,” Ralph conceded quietly.

Jack released a slow breath that he seemed to be holding.

“Good,” he murmured. A pause followed before he cleared his throat, adding something else that he seemed to be mulling over. “You’ve handled them before… well, all of us. It’s something I’ll never understand, honestly. It was infuriating and admirable all at once. How you were able to stand on your own the way you did,” Jack’s face was blooming with soft redness over the admission, his eyes fixed on him.

Ralph felt Jack’s fingers reaching once more to touch his arm, nothing like the anxious snatch from before. A gentle hold.

The backdrop of the manic energy of Merridew manor was forgotten for a moment as he focused on the chorister. Jack’s words were tangled with stained memories. Ralph could still hear the screams and how the acidic tang of blood flooded his senses, how the smoke scorched his lungs. But those tangled memories also now included the pounding of his pulse, a breathless rush in his chest, and the press of Jack’s hot hands against his skin from nights ago. It was a strange medley of sensations and moments wrapped up in his complicated association with Jack.

“I still hate you for all that. And for how I can never be rid of you, something you’ve made sure of,” Ralph whispered, although the venom from when he’d said much the same to Jack in the chapel from so long ago at the start of the school year had faded, replaced with another feeling. 

Perhaps for the worse.

“But…” he continued, shifting his weight so that he was a tad bit closer to Jack. “I don’t know if I even want to be rid of you. That’s what’s infuriating, Jack.”

Jack stared at him, unblinking, for a long moment. His lips parting, as if to say something, but seemed to be second-guessing his thought. Finally, he muttered quietly, “It’s hard to tell if you’re about to hit me or kiss me.”

“Neither. Because this isn’t the appropriate place,” Ralph sounded faintly amused as he pulled away to an appropriate distance. Despite being within eyeshot of people, they had enough distance to themselves that their conversation remained relatively private. So, Ralph decided to continue.

“I’m starting to think that you couldn’t tolerate being around someone who only wanted to kiss you. In any case, you do need to be challenged, Jack. And frequently. It’s in your nature to not know your limits. And I’ve seen exactly how disastrous it is when you simply barrage forward, unrestrained and destroying everything in your path. You do recognize that at least, don’t you?”

“Well,” Jack produced a scornful frown, his thoughts briefly on his most recent goal of pursuing and obtaining what he wanted most. “Yes, perhaps. Although, I hope you’re not implying that I need to be leashed.”

Ralph scoffed, sounding close to a laugh. “No, of course not. What I am saying is, expect me to challenge you. That will never change. And if you want to—” he paused, searching for the right description, “—stay _close_ to me, those are my terms. I never want to see the side of you that that launched a spear at me in a fit of passion again.”

Jack’s gaze broke away from Ralph when he brought up one of the ugliest memories they had together on the island. “I understand.”

As the Merridews and guests began to filter even further in the foyer, Jack abruptly turned to walk down one of the corridors, his fingers gripping at Ralph, encouraging him to follow. This short journey was familiar from the night of the party, eventually landing them in the emptied corridor where Jack’s bedroom was, their luggage already resting next to the door. He released his hold over Ralph.

“Ralph,” Jack was set on continuing once they had some proper privacy. “I know this means compromise from both ends. I’ll follow some of your rules, because I know it's necessary for now, and I know you’ll challenge me on occasion. That's... fine, I suppose. As for me, I don’t want your rules and boundaries dictating everything. We do need some measure of… doing what we want. And… I’d like your approval at least sometimes. That’s the most difficult thing to get from you, you know. It's so irritating.”

“Sorry,” Ralph sighed, although the tightness in his shoulders abated. He leaned slightly against the doorframe, affording Jack a casual smile. “That’s something I like about you. Your madness and intensity. It’s contagious. And it’s what makes others follow you. It's also why you've managed to pull me into some of your stupid ventures in the past.”

Ralph’s hand crept up along the front of Jack’s sweater, his fingers pulling lightly at the material, drawing Jack closer. “And kissing you, along with everything else we’ve done… _is_ me breaking the rules. I’ll continue to break those rules with you.”

Heat flooded Jack’s freckled cheeks once more with Ralphs words and he stumbled forward a tad with the pull of his sweater. Even though Ralph admitted that he felt drawn to him, Jack still felt ridiculously and completely defenseless whenever Ralph drew close or smiled at him like that.

He wondered if that was something that Ralph even realized. How Jack was useless, rowdy putty in his hands with the right words and the right touches.

And it seemed like they both had the same intention as Ralph closed the distance between them and Jack surged forward to claim his mouth.

The kiss was clumsy and rough, one of the few times that Jack could feel Ralph behaving as frenzied as he was. Jack felt Ralph's chapped lip when he pulled it briefly between his. Annoyed fingers fumbled with the door, opening it, and only half breaking the kiss to shove it closed behind them. Ralph half laughed between the broken kiss and Jack's struggle with the door up until Jack cupped his cheek and tasted his mouth once again.

It felt like fire racing through his veins as Jack pressed Ralph’s back against the wall, tightly and nearly holding him up against him. Jack’s powerful hand gripped at the back of Ralph’s thigh, sliding down and hooking the back of his knee, bringing it up to wrap around his waist. The pressure of Jack’s hips grinding against his at this angle heightened the growing friction between them, drawing out a gasp from Ralph’s throat.

Ralph gripped at Jack’s shoulders as they shared another hurried kiss.

It was only when they broke apart for breath that Jack muttered words close to his ear, panting all the while. “I want you.”

“…What?” Ralph could barely form words, trapped in a thick haze of heat and ache everywhere they touched.

“I want you,” Jack repeated, a tad more strongly this time as he pulled away enough to make stubborn eye contact. The intensity in his gaze gave away that he'd been thinking about it for a while and had just solidified his resolve. It took Ralph another sluggish moment to process what Jack meant. He pulled away to untangle himself, trying to be steady on his own legs.

“I don’t know, Jack… Do you even know the first thing about having sex between guys… like, properly?” Ralph’s brow creased, incredulous.

“Well, it can’t be that difficult, right? I even bought some things just in case.”

“What—you were planning on it?” Ralph’s voice took on shades of annoyance as he moved away from being pinned between Jack and the wall.

“Not exactly,” Jack fumbled with his words, struggling once again to find the correct ones for this situation. “It’s better to have things just in case, right? Anyway, I wanted to bring it up because we’ve already done _some_ things and I wouldn’t mind doing more. If… you know, if you want to.”

Ralph sighed, brushing back the hair in his eyes in agitation. “I don’t know, Jack. I have to think about it.”

“Well, okay,” Jack resigned, looking like he was internally kicking himself. “We do have a couple of weeks to think about it, at least.”

Ralph shot Jack a look, but didn’t respond. Instead, he opened the door to grab his suitcase to bring it inside to unpack. And it was only then that he realized that his suitcase was next to Jack’s room and not at a guest bedroom.

“Is there a reason why I’m staying in your room?”

Jack took the opportunity to pull in his luggage as well and haul it onto his bed. “All the other guest rooms are taken up until the party has ended. Family and other guests, of course. My parents didn’t think it would be an issue if you shared my room in the meantime.”

He paused and turned to face Ralph, slow realization dawning on him that perhaps he wouldn’t be the most comfortable with that setup. “Is that… alright?”

“It’s fine. It can’t be helped,” Ralph muttered after a moment. “Just promise me that you’ll allow me to think over your—uh, suggestion, first. Before we try anything.”

“I promise,” Jack responded quickly, relief relaxing his features.

An interruption came with a knock at the door, and a shrill woman’s voice followed from the other side, alerting Jack that his father wished to speak with him promptly in his study. Jack shouted back an acknowledgment.

His face paled considerably, his fingers turning white at the sides of his opened suitcase.

“You’re frightened of your father,” Ralph pointed out in a soft tone, over what he assumed to be a delicate subject, peering up at Jack while he continued to unpack his things.

Jack pushed away from his suitcase and didn’t respond at first, moving to one of the antiqued mirrors hanging next to his wardrobe, straightening out his sweater over the button-up and tie beneath. He offered Ralph a sidelong glance.

“Only an idiot wouldn’t be,” he countered with such a low tone that it was barely audible. “I know you’re not an idiot, Ralph,” Jack added with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Before he turned to leave the room, Ralph could plainly see the blank expression that Jack adopted, slipping into a mask of stone not unlike the icy veneer of Mr. Merridew’s presence.

Masks like that spoke of survival and necessity. Ralph knew that much. His gaze lingered on the doorframe long after Jack had left.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My love and gratitude goes to all of you for the amazing support and kind words of encouragement! You have no idea how much all the support has really motivated me to push forward with this story. <3
> 
> If you're feeling tickled to do so, and have enjoyed my writing, feel free to support me on ko-fi! (https://ko-fi.com/amrye) Thank you!


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